Gi  'y 


KNEBWORTH  LIMITED   EDITION 


THE 


PILGRIMS    OF    THE    RHINE 


TO   WHICH    IS   PREFIXED 


THE    IDEAL   WORLD 


THE    COMING    RACE 


BY 


EDWARD    BULWER    LYTTON 


(LOUD    LYTTON) 


WITH     ILLUSTRATIONS 


BOSTON 

ESTES    AND     LAURIAT 
1892 


KNEBIVORTH   LIMITED    EDITION. 

Limited  to  One  Thousand  Copies. 

Wo,  595 


J^jZ/at-V^L-^^HW-^-  -  A^ 


TYPOGRAPHY,  ELECTROTYPING,  AND 
PRINTING  BY  JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON, 
UNIVERSITY  PRESS,  CAMBRIDGE,  U.S.A. 


l-'-iqt 


THE    PILGRIMS   OF   THE    RHINE 


iv;5*X;837 


TO   HENRY   LYTTON   BULWEK 


Allow  me,  my  dear  Brother,  to  dedicate  this  Work  to  you.  The 
greater  part  of  it  (namely,  the  tales  which  vary  and  relieve  the  voyages 
of  Gertrude  and  Trevylyan)  was  written  in  the  pleasant  excursion  we 
made  together  some  years  ago.  Among  the  associations  —  some  sad 
and  some  pleasing  —  connected  with  the  general  design,  none  are  so 
agreeable  to  me  as  those  that  remind  me  of  the  friendship  subsisting 
between  us,  and  which,  unlike  that  of  near  relations  in  general,  has 
grown  stronger  and  more  intimate  as  our  footsteps  have  receded  farther 
from  the  fields  where  we  played  together  in  our  childhood.  I  dedicate 
this  Work  to  you  with  the  more  pleasure,  not  only  when  I  remember 
that  it  has  always  been  a  favourite  with  yourself,  but  when  I  think  that 
it  is  one  of  my  writings  most  liked  in  foreign  countries  ;  and  I  may 
possibly,  therefore,  have  found  a  record  destined  to  endure  the  affec- 
tionate esteem  which  this  Dedication  is  intended  to  convey. 

Yours,  etc. 

E.  L.  B. 

London,  April  23,  1840. 


ADVERTISEMENT   TO   THE   FIRST   EDITION. 


Could  I  prescribe  to  the  critic  and  to  the  public,  1 
would  Avisli  that  this  work  might  be  tried  by  the  rules 
rather  of  poetry  than  prose,  for  according  to  those  rules 
have  been  both  its  conception  and  its  execution ;  and  I  feel 
that  something  of  sympathy  with  the  author's  design  is 
requisite  to  win  indulgence  for  the  superstitions  he  has 
incorporated  with  his  tale,  for  the  fioridity  of  his  style, 
and  the  redundance  of  his  descriptions.  Perhaps,  indeed, 
it  would  be  impossible,  in  attempting  to  paint  the  scenery 
and  embody  some  of  the  Legends  of  the  Rhine,  not  to  give 
(it  may  be,  too  loosely)  the  reins  to  the  imagination,  or 
to  escape  the  influence  of  that  wild  German  spirit  which 
I  have  sought  to  transfer  to  a  colder  tongue. 

I  have  made  the  experiment  of  selecting  for  the  main 
interest  of  my  work  the  simplest  materials,  and  weaving 
upon  them  the  ornaments  given  chiefly  to  suljjects  of  a 
more  fanciful  nature.  I  know  not  how  far  I  have  suc- 
ceeded, but  various  reasons  have  conspired  to  make  this 
the  work,  above  all  others  that  I  have  written,  which  has 
given  me  the  most  delight  (though  not  unmixed  with 
melancholy)  in  producing,  and  in  which  my  mind  for  the 
time  has  been  the  most  completely  absorbed.  But  the 
ardour  of  composition  is  often  disproportioncd  to  the  merit 
of  the  work ;  and  the  public  sometimes,  nor  unjustly, 
avenges  itself  for  that  forgctfulncss  of  its  existence  which 
makes  the  chief  charm  of  an  author's  solitude,  — and  the 
happiest,  if  not  the  wisest,  inspiration  of  his  dreams. 


PREFACE. 


With  the  younger  class  of  my  readers  this  work  has 
had  the  good  fortune  to  find  especial  favour;  perhaps  be- 
cause it  is  in  itself  a  collection  of  the  thoughts  and  senti- 
ments that  constitute  the  Romance  of  youth.  It  has  little 
to  do  with  the  positive  truths  of  our  actual  life,  and  does 
not  pretend  to  deal  with  the  larger  passions  and  more 
stirring  interests  of  our  kind.  It  is  but  an  episode  out  of 
the  graver  epic  of  human  destinies.  It  requires  no  ex- 
planation of  its  purpose,  and  no  analysis  of  its  story ;  the 
one  is  evident,  the  other  simple,  —  the  first  seeks  but  to 
illustrate  visible  nature  through  the  poetry  of  the  affec- 
tions ;  the  other  is  but  the  narrative  of  the  most  real  of 
mortal  sorrows,  which  the  Author  attempts  to  take  out  of 
the  region  of  pain  by  various  accessories  from  the  Ideal. 
The  connecting  tale  itself  is  but  the  string  that  binds  into 
a  garland  the  wild-flowers  cast  upon  a  grave. 

The  descriptions  of  the  Rhine  have  been  considered  by 
Germans  sufficiently  faithful  to  render  this  tribute  to 
their  land  and  their  legends  one  of  the  popular  guide- 
books along  the  course  it  illustrates,  —  especially  to  such 
tourists  as  wish  not  only  to  take  in  with  the  eye  the 
inventory  of  the  river,  but  to  seize  the  peculiar  spirit 
which  invests  the  wave  and  the  bank  with  a  beauty  that 
can  only  he  made  visible  by  reflection.  He  little  compre- 
hends the  true  charm  of  the  Rhine  who  gazes  on  the  vines 
on  the  hill-tops  without  a  thought  of  the  imaginary  world 
with  which  their  recesses  have  been  peopled  by  the  grace- 
ful credulity  of  old ;  who  surveys  the  steep  ruins  that  over- 


X  PREFACE. 

shado\^'  the  water,  untouched  by  one  lesson  from  the 
pensive  morality  of  Time.  Everywhere  around  us  is  the 
evidence  of  perished  opinions  and  departed  races ;  every- 
where around  us,  also,  the  rejoicing  fertility  of  uncon- 
querable Nature,  and  the  calm  progress  of  Man  himself 
through  the  infinite  cycles  of  decay.  He  who  would  judge 
adequately  of  a  landscape  must  regard  it  not  only  with  the 
painter's  eye,  but  with  the  poet's.  The  feelings  which 
the  sight  of  any  scene  in  Nature  conveys  to  the  mind  — 
more  especially  of  any  scene  on  which  history  or  fiction 
has  left  its  trace  —  must  depend  upon  our  sympathy  with 
those  associations  which  make  up  what  may  be  called  the 
spiritual  character  of  the  spot.  If  indifferent  to  those 
associations,  we  should  see  only  hedgerows  and  ploughed 
land  in  the  battle-field  of  Bannockburn ;  and  the  traveller 
would  but  look  on  a  dreary  waste,  whether  he  stood 
amidst  the  piles  of  the  Druid  on  Salisbury  plain,  or  trod 
his  bewildered  way  over  the  broad  expanse  on  which  the 
Chaldsean  first  learned  to  number  the  stars. 

To  the  former  editions  of  this  tale  was  prefixed  a  poem 
on  "The  Ideal,"  which  had  all  the  worst  faults  of  the 
author's  earliest  compositions  in  verse.  The  present 
poem  (with  the  exception  of  a  very  few  lines)  has  been 
entirely  rewritten,  and  has  at  least  the  comparative  merit 
of  being  less  vague  in  the  thought,  and  less  unpolished 
in  the  diction,  than  that  which  it  replaces. 

Ejis,  1849. 


CONTENTS. 


Page 
THE   IDEAL   WORLD I 


THE   PILGRIMS   OF  THE   RHINE. 

CILVPTER  L 
lu  which  the  Reader  is  Introduced  to  Queen  Nymphalin 13 

CHAPTER  IL 
The  Lovers 19 

CHAPTER  III. 
Feelings 24 

CHAPTER  IV. 
The  Maid  of  Malines 28 

CHAPTER  V. 

Rotterdam.  —  The  Character  of  the  Dutch.  —  Their  Resemblance  to  the 
Germans.  —  A  Dispute  between  Vane  and  Trevylyan,  after  the 
manner  of  the  ancient  Novelists,  as  to  which  is  preferable,  the  Life 
of  Action,  or  the  Life  of  Repose.  —  Trevylyan 's  Contrast  between 
Literary  Ambition  and  the  Ambition  of  Public  Life 57 

CHAPTER   VI. 

Gorcum,  —  The  Tour  of  the  Virtues  :  a  Philosoplier's  Tale  ....  6.5 


xii  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  VII. 

Page 
Cologne.  —  The  Traces  of  the  Roman  Yoke.  —  The  Church  of  St.  Maria. 

—  Trevylyau's  Reflections  on  the  Monastic  Life. — The  Tomb  of 

the  Three  Kings.  —  An  Evening  Excursion  on  the  Rhine  ....       76 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
The  Soul  in  Purgatory  ;  or,  Love  Stronger  than  Death 79 

CHAPTER    IX. 

The  Scenery  of  the  Rhine  analogous  to  the  German  Literary  Genius.  — 

The  Drachenfels 84 

CHAPTER    X. 

The  Legend  of  Roland.  —  The  Adventures  of  Nymphalin  on  the  Island 
of  Nonnewerth.  —  Her  Song. — The  Decay  of  the  Fairy-Faith  in 
England 86 

CHAPTER  XI. 
Wherein  the  Reader  is  made  Spectator  Avith  the  English  Fairies  of  the 

Scenes  and  Beings  that  are  beneath  the  Earth 91 

CHAPTER  XIL 
The  Wooing  of  Master  Fox 95 

CHAPTER    XIII. 
The  Tomb  of  a  Father  of  Many  Children 118 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

The  Fairy's  Cave,  and  the  Fairy's  Wish 120 

CHAPTER  XV. 

The  Banks  of  the  Rhine.  —  From  the  Drachenfels  to  Brohl.  —  An  Inci- 
dent that  suffices  in  this  Tale  for  an  Epoch 121 

CHAPTER   XVI. 
Gertrude.  —  The  Excursion  to  Hammerstein.  —  Thoughts 125 

CHAPTER   XVII. 
Letter  from  Trevylyan  to ^27 


CONTEXTS.  xiii 

CHAPTER  XVIII.  p^^^ 

Cobleutz.  —  Excursion  to  the  Mountains  of  Taunus  ;  Roman  Tower  in 
tlie  Valley  of  Ehreubreitstein. — Travel,  its  Pleasures  estimated 
differently  by  the  Young  and  the  Old.  —  The  Student  of  Heidel- 
berg :  his  Criticisms  on  German  Literature 130 

CHAPTER    XIX. 
The  Fallen  Star  ;  or,  the  History  of  a  False  Religion 134 

CHAPTER   XX. 

Glenhausen.  —  The  Power  of  Love  in  Sanctified  Places.  — A  Portrait  of 
Frederick  Barbarossa.  —  The  Ambition  of  Men  finds  no  adequate 
Sympathy  in  Women 167 

CHAPTER    XXL 

View  of  Ehreubreitstein.  —  A  New  Alarm  in   Gertrude's   Health.  — 

Trarbach 169 

CHAPTER    XXIL 

The  Double  Life.  —  Trevylyan's  Fate.  —  Sorrow  the  Parent  of  Fame.  — 

Xiederlahnstein.  —  Dreams 171 

CHAPTER    XXIH. 
The  Life  of  Dreams 174 

CHAPTER   XXIV. 
The  Brothers 179 

CHAPTER   XXV. 

The  Immortality  of  the  Soul. — A  Common  Incident  not  before  De- 
scribed. —  Trevylyan  and  Gertrude 204 

CHAPTER    XXVL 

In  which  the  Reader  will  learn  how  the  Fairies  were  received  by  the 
Sovereigns  of  the  Mines.  —  The  Complaint  of  the  Last  of  the 
Fauns.  —  The  Red  Huntsman.  —  The  Storm.  —  Death 207 


XIV  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XXVII.  p^^^ 

Thurmberg.  —  A  Storm  upon  the  Rhine.  —  The  Ruius  of  Rheinfels.  — 
Teril  Uufelt  by  Love.  —  The  Echo  of  the  Luiiei-berg.  —  St.  Goar.  — 
Kaub,  Guteufels,  and  Pfalzgrafenstein  — A  certain  Vastness  of 
Mind  in  the  First  Hermits.  —  The  Sceuery  of  the  Rhine  to 
Bacharach 215 

CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

The  Voyage  to  Bingen  —  The  Simple  Incidents  in  this  Tale  Excused. — 
The  Situation  and  Character  of  Gertrude.  —  The  Conversation  of 
the  Lovers  in  the  Tempest.  —  A  Fact  Contradicted. —  Thoughts 
occasioned  by  a  Madhouse  amongst  the  most  Beautiful  Landscapes 
of  the  Rhine 219 

CHAPTER   XXIX. 

EUfeld.  —  Mayence. — Heidelberg  — A  Conversation  between  Vane 
and  the  German  Student.  —  The  Ruins  of  the  Cattle  of  Heidelberg 
and  its  Solitary  Habitant 225 

CHAPTER  XXX. 

No  Part  of  the  Earth  really  Solitary.  —  Tlie  Song  of  the  Fairies.  — 
The  Sacred  Spot.  —The  Witch  of  the  Evil  Winds.  —  The  Spell  and 
the  Duty  of  the  Fairies 231 

CHAPTER   XXXL 

Gertrude  and  Trevylyan,  Mhen  the  former  is  awakened  to  the  Approach 

of  Death 2-34 

CHAPTER   XXXII. 
A  Spot  to  be  Buried  in 236 

CHAPTER   THE   LAST 
The  Conclusion  of  this  Tale 238 


THE  COMmG  RACE 249 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Page 

Cologne,  Bridge  of  Boats  and  Cathedral    ....      Frotitispiece 

Rotterdam 24 

The  Seven  Mountains  from  E,olandseck 84 

Coblentz,  Rhine  Bridge  and  Palace 130 

Ehrenbreitsteik 1G9 

St.  Goar,  the  Cat  and  Rheinfels 216 

Mayence,  New  Bridge 225 

Heidelberg  Castle,  Inner  Facade,  Castle-Yard 231 


THE   IDEAL   WORLD 


THE     IDEAL     WORLD. 


THE  IDEAL  WORLD,  —  ITS  REALM  IS  EVERYWHERE  AROUND  US;  ITS 
INHABITANTS  ARE  THE  IMMORTAL  PERSONIFICATIONS  OF  ALL 
BEAUTIFUL  THOUGHTS  ',  TO  THAT  WORLD  WE  ATTAIN  BY  THE 
REPOSE   OF    THE    SENSES. 

Around  "this  visible  diurnal  sphere  " 

There  floats  a  World  that  girds  us  like  the  space; 
On  wandering  clouds  and  gliding  beams  career 

Its  ever-moving  murmurou.s  Populace. 
There,  all  the  lovelier  thoughts  conceived  below 

Ascending  live,  and  in  celestial  shapes. 
To  that  bright  World,  0  Mortal,  wouldst  thou  go? 

Bind  but  thy  senses,  and  thy  soul  escapes : 
To  care,  to  sin,  to  passion  close  thine  eyes ; 
Sleep  in  the  flesh,  and  see  the  Dreamland  rise ! 
Hark  to  the  gush  of  golden  waterfalls, 
Or  knightly  tromps  at  Archimagian  Walls ! 
In  the  green  hush  of  Dorian  Valleys  mark 

The  River  Maid  her  amber  tresses  knitting; 
When  glow-worms  twinkle  under  coverts  dark, 

And  silver  clouds  o'er  summer  stars  are  flitting, 
With  jocand  elves  invade  "the  Moone's  sphere, 
Or  hang  a  pearl  in  every  cowslip's  ear;  "  ^ 
Or,  list!  what  time  the  roseate  urns  of  dawn 

Scatter  fresh  dews,  and  the  first  skylark  weaves 
Joy  into  song,  the  blithe  Arcadian  Faun 

Piping  to  wood-nymphs  under  Bromian  leaves, 

*  "  Midsummer  Night's  Dream." 
1 


THE   IDEAL   WORLD. 

While  slowly  gleaming  through  the  purple  glade 
Come  Evian's  panther  car,  and  the  pale  Naxian  Maid. 

Such,  0  Ideal  World,  thy  habitants ! 

All  the  fair  children  of  creative  creeds, 
All  the  lost  tribes  of  Fantasy  are  thine,  — 
From  antique  Saturn  in  Dodonian  haunts. 

Or  Pan's  first  music  waked  from  shepherd  reeds, 
To  the  last  sprite  when  Heaven's  pale  lamps  decline, 
Heard  wailing  soft  along  the  solemn  Ehine. 


II. 

OUR  DREAMS  BELONG  TO  THE  IDEAL.  —  THE  DIVINER  LOVE  FOR 
WHICH  YOUTH  SIGHS  NOT  ATTAINABLE  IN  LlfE,  BUT  THE  PUR- 
SUIT OF  THAT  LOVE  BEYOND  THE  WORLD  OF  THE  SENSES  PURI- 
FIES THE  SOUL  AND  AWAKES  THE  GENIUS.  —  PETRARCH. — DANTE. 

Thine  are  the  Dreams  that  pass  the  Ivory  Gates, 

With  prophet  shadows  haunting  poet  eyes! 
Thine  the  belov'd  illusions  youth  creates 

From  the  dim  haze  of  its  own  happy  skies. 
In  vain  we  pine  ;  we  yearn  on  earth  to  win 

The  being  of  the  heart,  our  boyhood's  dream. 
The  Psyche  and  the  Eros  ne'er  have  been, 

Save  in  Olympus,  wedded  !     As  a  stream 
Glasses  a  star,  so  life  the  ideal  love ; 
Eestless  the  stream  below,  serene  the  orb  above! 
Ever  the  soul  the  senses  shall  deceive; 
Here  custom  chill,  there  kinder  fate  bereave : 
For  mortal  lips  unmeet  eternal  vows ! 
And  Eden's  flowers  for  Adam's  mournful  brows! 
We  seek  to  make  the  moment's  angel  guest 

The  household  dweller  at  a  human  hearth ; 
We  chase  the  bird  of  Paradise,  whose  nest 

Was  never  found  amid  the  bowers  of  earth, ^ 

1  According  to  a  belief  in  the  East,  which  is  associated  with  one  of  the 
loveliest  and  most  familiar  of  Oriental  superstitions,  the  bird  of  Paradise  is 
never  seen  to  rest  upon  the  earth,  and  its  nest  is  never  to  be  found. 


THE  IDEAL  WORLD. 

Yet  loftier  joys  the  vain  pursuit  may  bring, 

Than  sate  the  senses  with  the  boons  of  time ; 
The  bird  of  Heaven  hath  still  an  upward  wing, 

The  steps  it  lures  are  still  the  steps  that  climb; 
And  in  the  ascent  although  the  soil  be  bare, 
More  clear  the  daylight  and  more  pure  the  air. 
Let  Petrarch's  heart  the  human  mistress  lose, 
He  mourns  the  Laura  but  to  win  the  Muse. 
Could  all  the  charms  which  Georgian  maids  combine 
Delight  the  soul  of  the  dark  Florentine, 
Like  one  chaste  dream  of  childlike  Beatrice 
Awaiting  Hell's  dark  pilgrim  in  the  skies, 
Snatched  from  below  to  be  the  guide  above. 
And  clothe  Keligion  in  the  form  of  Love?  * 


III. 

GENIUS,  LIFTING  ITS  LIFE  TO  THE  IDEAL,  BECOMES  ITSELF  A  PURE 
IDEA  :  IT  MUST  COMPREHEND  ALL  EXISTENCE,  ALL  HUMAN  SINS 
AND     SUFFERINGS  ;     BUT      IN     COMPREHENDING,     IT      TRANSMUTES 

THEM. — THE   POET  IN   HIS    TWO-FOLD  BEING, THE   ACTUAL    AND 

THE  IDEAL.  —  THE  INFLUENCE  OF  GENIUS  OVER  THE  STERNEST 
REALITIES  OF  EARTH;  OVER  OUR  PASSIONS;  WARS  AND  SUPER- 
STITIONS. —  ITS  IDENTITY  IS  WITH  HUMAN  PROGRESS.  —  ITS 
AGENCY,    EVEN   WHERE    UNACKNOWLEDGED,    IS    UNIVERSAL. 

Oh,  thou  true  Iris !  sporting  on  thy  bow  ^ 

Of  tears  and  smiles !  Jove's  herald.  Poetry, 
Thou  reflex  image  of  all  joy  and  woe, 

Both  fused  in  light  by  thy  dear  fantasy! 
Lo!  from  the  clay  how  Genius  lifts  its  life. 

And  grows  one  pure  Idea,  one  calm  soul! 
True,  its  own  clearness  must  reflect  our  strife ; 

True,  its  completeness  must  comprise  our  whole : 
But  as  the  sun  transmutes  the  sullen  hues 

Of  marsh-grown  vapours  into  vermeil  dyes, 

^  It  is  supposed  by  many  of  the  commentators  on  Dante,  that  in  the  form 
of  his  lost  Beatrice,  who  guides  him  in  his  Vision  of  Heaven,  he  allegorizes 
Religious  Faith. 


THE  IDEAL  WORLD. 

And  melts  them  later  into  twilight  dews, 

Shedding  on  flowers  the  baptism  of  the  skies ; 

So  glows  the  Ideal  in  the  air  we  breathe, 
So  from  the  fumes  of  sorrow  and  of  sin, 

Doth  its  warm  light  in  rosy  colours  wreathe 
Its  playful  cloudland,  storing  balms  within. 

Survey  the  Poet  in  his  mortal  mould, 

Man,  amongst  men,  descended  from  his  throne ! 
The  moth  that  chased  the  star  now  frets  the  fold, 

Our  cares,  our  faults,  our  follies  are  his  own. 
Passions  as  idle,  and  desires  as  vain, 
Vex.  the  wild  heart,  and  dupe  the  erring  brain. 
From  Freedom's  field  the  recreant  Horace  flies 
To  kiss  the  hand  by  which  his  country  dies ; 
From  Mary's  grave  the  mighty  Peasant  turns, 
And  hoarse  with  orgies  rings  the  laugh  of  Burns. 
While  Rousseau's  lips  a  lackey's  vices  own, — 
Lips  that  could  draw  the  thunder  on  a  throne ! 
But  when  from  Life  the  Actual  Genius  springs, 

When,  self-transformed  by  its  own  magic  rod, 
It  snaps  the  fetters  and  expands  the  wings. 

And  drops  the  fleshly  garb  that  veiled  the  god. 
How  the  mists  vanish  as  the  form  ascends ! 
How  in  its  aureole  every  sunbeam  blends ! 
By  the  Arch-Brightener  of  Creation  seen. 

How  dim  the  crowns  on  perishable  brows ! 
The  snows  of  Atlas  melt  beneath  the  sheen, 

Through  Thebaid  caves  the  rushing  splendour  flows. 
Cimmerian  glooms  with  Asian  beams  are  bright, 
And  Earth  reposes  in  a  belt  of  light. 
Now  stern  as  Vengeance  shines  the  awful  form, 
Armed  with  the  bolt  and  glowing  through  the  storm; 
Sets  the  great  deeps  of  human  passion  free. 
And  whelms  the  bulwarks  that  would  breast  the  sea. 
Roused  by  its  voice  the  ghastly  Wars  arise, 
Mars  reddens  earth,  the  Valkyrs  pale  the  skies; 
Dim  Superstition  from  her  hell  escapes, 


THE   IDEAL   WORLD. 

With  all  lier  shadowy  brood  of  monster  shapes; 

Here  life  itself  the  scowl  of  Typhon^  takes; 

There  Conscience  shudders  at  Alecto's  snakes; 

From  Gothic  graves  at  midnight  yawning  wide, 

In  gory  cerements  gibbering  spectres  glide; 

And  where  o'er  blasted  heaths  the  lightnings  flame, 

Black  secret  hags  "do  deeds  without  a  name!  " 

Yet  through  its  direst  agencies  of  awe, 

Light  marks  its  presence  and  pervades  its  law, 

And,  like  Orion  when  the  storms  are  loud, 

It  links  creation  while  it  gilds  a  cloud. 

By  ruthless  Thor,  free  Thought,  frank  Honour  stand, 

Fame's  grand  desire,  and  zeal  for  Fatherland. 

The  grim  Religion  of  Barbarian  Fear 

With  some  Hereafter  still  connects  the  Here, 

Lifts  the  gross  sense  to  some  spiritual  source. 

And  thrones  some  Jove  above  the  Titan  Force, 

Till,  love  completing  what  in  awe  began, 

From  the  rude  savage  dawns  the  thoughtful  man. 


Then,  oh,  behold  the  Glorious  comforter! 

Still  bright'ning  worlds  but  gladd'ning  now  the  hearth, 
Or  like  the  lustre  of  our  nearest  star. 

Fused  in  the  common  atmosphere  of  earth. 
It  sports  like  hope  upon  the  captive's  chain; 
Descends  in  dreams  upon  the  couch  of  pain ; 
To  wonder's  realm  allures  the  earnest  child; 
To  the  chaste  love  refines  the  instinct  wild; 
And  as  in  waters  the  reflected  beam. 
Still  where  we  turn,  glides  with  us  up  the  stream, 
And  while  in  truth  the  whole  expanse  is  bright, 
Yields  to  each  eye  its  own  fond  path  of  light, — 
So  over  life  the  rays  of  Genius  fall. 
Give  each  his  track  because  illuming  all. 

^  The  gloomy  Typhon  of  Efjypt  assumes  many  of  the  mj'stic  attributes  of 
the  Principle  of  Life  which,  in  the  Grecian  Apotheosis  of  the  Indian  Bacchus, 
is  represented  in  so  genial  a  character  of  exuberant  joy  and  everlasting  youth. 


THE  IDEAL  WORLD. 
IV. 

FORGIVENESS  TO  THE  ERRORS  OF  OUR  BENEFACTORS. 

Hence  is  that  secret  pardon  we  bestow 

In  the  true  instinct  of  the  grateful  heart, 
Upon  the  Sons  of  Song.     The  good  they  do 

In  the  clear  world  of  their  Uranian  art 
Endures  forever;  while  the  evil  done 

In  the  poor  drama  of  their  mortal  scene, 
Is  but  a  passing  cloud  before  the  sun; 

Space  hath  no  record  where  the  mist  hath  been. 
Boots  it  to  us  if  Shakspeare  erred  like  man? 

Why  idly  question  that  most  mystic  life? 
Eno'  the  giver  in  his  gifts  to  scan; 

To  bless  the  sheaves  with  which  thy  fields  are  rife, 
Nor,  blundering,  guess  through  what  obstructive  clay 
The  glorious  corn-seed  struggled  up  to  day. 


THE  IDEAL  IS  NOT  CONFINED  TO  POETS.  —  ALGERNON  SIDNEY  REC- 
OGNIZES HIS  IDEAL  IN  LIBERTY,  AND  BELIEVES  IN  ITS  TRIUMPH 
WHERE  THE  MERE  PRACTICAL  MAN  COULD  BEHOLD  BUT  ITS 
ruins;  YET  LIBERTY  IN  THIS  WORLD  MUST  EVER  BE  AN  IDEAL, 
AND  THE  LAND  THAT  IT  PROMISES  CAN  BE  FOUND  BUT  IN 
DEATH. 

But  not  to  you  alone,  0  Sons  of  Song, 
The  wings  that  float  the  loftier  airs  along. 
Whoever  lifts  us  from  the  dust  we  are, 

Beyond  the  sensual  to  spiritual  goals; 
Who  from  the  Moment  and  the  Self  afar 

By  deathless  deeds  allures  reluctant  souls. 
Gives  the  warm  life  to  what  the  Limner  draws,  — 
Plato  but  thought  what  godlike  Cato  was.^ 
Kecall  the  Wars  of  England's  giant-born, 

Is  Elyot's  voice,  is  Hampden's  death  in  vain? 
1  What  riato  thought,  and  godlike  Cato  was.  —  Pope. 


THE  IDEAL  WORLD. 

Have  all  the  meteors  of  the  vernal  morn 
But  wasted  light  upon  a  frozen  main? 
Where  is  that  child  of  Carnage,  Freedom,  flown? 
The  Sybarite  lolls  upon  the  martyr's  throne. 
Lewd,  ribald  jests  succeed  to  solemn  zeal; 
And  things  of  silk  to  Cromwell's  men  of  steel. 
Cold  are  the  hosts  the  tromps  of  Ireton  thrilled, 
And  hushed  the  senates  Vane's  large  presence  tilled. 
In  what  strong  heart  doth  the  old  manhood  dwell? 
Where  art  thou,  Freedom?     Look!  in  Sidney's  cell! 
There  still  as  stately  stands  the  living  Truth, 
Smiling  on  age  as  it  had  smiled  on  youth. 
Her  forts  dismantled,  and  her  shrines  o'erthrown, 
The  headsman's  block  her  last  dread  altar-stone. 
No  sanction  left  to  Reason's  vulgar  hope. 
Far  from  the  wrecks  expands  her  prophet's  scope. 
Millennial  morns  the  tombs  of  Kedron  gild. 
The  hands  of  saints  the  glorious  walls  rebuild, — 
Till  each  foundation  garnished  with  its  gem. 
High  o'er  Gehenna  flames  Jerusalem! 
0  thou  blood-stained  Ideal  of  the  free. 
Whose  breath  is  heard  in  clarions,  —  Liberty ! 
Sublimer  for  thy  grand  illusions  past. 
Thou  spring'st  to  Heaven, —  Religion  at  the  last. 
Alike  below,  or  commonwealths  or  thrones. 
Where'er  men  gather  some  crushed  victim  groans ; 
Only  in  death  thy  real  form  we  see. 
All  life  is  bondage, —  souls  alone  are  free. 
Thus  through  the  waste  the  wandering  Hebrews  went. 
Fire  on  the  march,  but  cloud  upon  the  tent. 
At  last  on  Pisgah  see  the  prophet  stand. 
Before  his  vision  spreads  the  Promised  Land; 
But  where  revealed  the  Canaan  to  his  eye?  — 
Upon  the  mountain  he  ascends  to  die. 


THE   IDEAL   WORLD. 


VI. 


YET  ALL  HAVE  TWO  ESCAPES  INTO  THE  IDEAL  WORLD;  NAMELY, 
MEMORY  AND  HOPE.  —  EXAMPLE  OF  HOPE  IN  YOUTH,  HOWEVER 
EXCLUDED    FROM    ACTION    AND    DESIRE.  —  NAPOLEON'S    SON. 

Yet  whatsoever  be  our  bondage  here, 
All  have  two  portals  to  the  phantom  sphere. 
What  hath  not  glided  through  those  gates  that  ope 
Beyond  the  Hour,  to  Memory  or  to  Hope  ! 
Give  Youth  the  Garden,  —  still  it  soars  above, 
Seeks  some  far  glory,  some  diviner  love. 
Place  Age  amidst  the  Golgotha, —  its  eyes 
Still  quit  the  graves,  to  rest  upon  the  skies; 
And  while  the  dust,  unheeded,  moulders  there. 
Track  some  lost  angel  through  cerulean  air. 

Lo !  where  the  Austrian  binds,  with  formal  chain, 
The  crownless  son  of  earth's  last  Charlemagne, — 
Him,  at  whose  birth  laughed  all  the  violet  vales 

(While  yet  unfallen  stood  thy  sovereign  star, 
0  Lucifer  of  nations).     Hark,  the  gales 

Swell  with  the  shout  from  all  the  hosts,  whose  war 
Rended  the  Alps,  and  crimsoned  Memphian  Nile, — 

"Way  for  the  coming  of  the  Conqueror's  Son: 
Woe  to  the  Merchant-Carthage  of  the  Isle ! 

Woe  to  the  Scythian  ice-world  of  the  Don ! 
0  Thunder  Lord,  thy  Lemnian  bolts  prepare, 
The  Eagle's  eyry  hath  its  eagle  heir! " 
Hark,  at  that  shout  from  north  to  south,  gray  Power 

Quails  on  its  weak,  hereditary  thrones; 
And  widowed  mothers  prophesy  the  hour 

Of  future  carnage  to  their  cradled  sons. 
What !  shall  our  race  to  blood  be  thus  consigned. 
And  Ate  claim  an  heirloom  in  mankind? 
Are  these  red  lots  unshaken  in  the  urn? 
Years  pass ;  approach,  pale  Questioner,  and  learn 


THE   IDEAL   WORLD. 

Cliained  to  his  rock,  with  brows  that  vainly  frown, 
The  fallen  Titan  sinks  in  darkness  down! 
And  sadly  gazing  through  his  gilded  grate, 
Behold  the  child  whose  birth  was  as  a  fate ! 
Far  from  the  land  in  which  his  life  began; 
Walled  from  the  healthful  air  of  hardy  man; 
Beared  by  cold  hearts,  and  watched  by  jealous  eyes, 
His  guardians  jailers,  and  his  comrades  spies. 
Each  trite  convention  courtly  fears  inspire 
To  stint  experience  and  to  dwarf  desire; 
Narrows  the  action  to  a  puppet  stage. 
And  trains  the  eaglet  to  the  starling's  cage. 
On  the  dejected  brow  and  smileless  cheek, 
AVhat  weary  thought  the  languid  lines  bespeak; 
Till  drop  by  drop,  from  jaded  day  to  day. 
The  sickly  life-streams  ooze  themselves  away. 
Yet  oft  in  Hop?:  a  boundless  realm  was  thine, 

That  vaguest  Infinite, —  the  Dream  of  Fame; 
Son  of  the  sword  that  first  made  kings  divine. 

Heir  to  man's  grandest  royalty, —  a  Name! 
Then  didst  thou  burst  upon  the  startled  world, 
And  keep  the  glorious  promise  of  thy  birth ; 
Then  were  the  wings  that  bear  the  bolt  unfurled, 

A  monarch's  voice  cried,  "Place  upon  the  earth!  " 
A  new  Philippi  gained  a  second  Rome, 
And  the  Son's  sword  avenged  the  greater  Caesar's  doom. 


VII. 

KXAMPI-E  OF  MEMORY  AS  LEADING  TO  THE  IDEAL,  —  AMIDST  LIFE 
HOWEVER  HUMBLE,  AND  IN  A  MIND  HOWEVER  IGNORANT.  —  THE 
VILLAGE    WIDOW. 

But  turn  the  eye  to  life's  sequestered  vale 
And  lowly  roofs  remote  in  hamlets  green. 

Oft  in  my  boyhood  where  the  moss-grown  pale 
Fenced  quiet  graves,  a  female  form  was  seen; 

Each  eve  she  sought  the  melancholy  ground. 


10  THE   IDEAL   WORLD. 

And  lingering  paused,  and  wistful  looked  around. 
If  yet  some  footstep  rustled  through  the  grass, 
Timorous  she  shrunk,  and  watched  the  shadow  pass ; 
Then,  when  the  spot  lay  lone  amidst  the  gloom. 
Crept  to  one  grave  too  humble  for  a  tomb, 
There  silent  bowed  her  face  above  the  dead. 
For,  if  in  prayer,  the  prayer  was  inly  said; 
Still  as  the  moonbeam,  paused  her  quiet  shade, 
Still  as  the  moonbeam,  through  the  yews  to  fade. 
Whose  dust  thus  hallowed  by  so  fond  a  care? 
What  the  grave  saith  not,  let  the  heart  declare. 
On  yonder  green  two  orphan  children  played; 
By  yonder  rill  two  plighted  lovers  strayed; 
In  yonder  shrine  two  lives  were  blent  in  one. 
And  joy-bells  chimed  beneath  a  summer  sun. 
Poor  was  their  lot,  their  bread  in  labour  found; 
No  parent  blessed  them,  and  no  kindred  owned; 
They  smiled  to  hear  the  wise  their  choice  condemn; 
They  loved  —  they  loved  —  and  love  was  wealth  to  them! 
Hark  —  one  short  week  —  again  the  holy  bell ! 
Still  shone  the  sun;  but  dirge  like  boomed  the  knell, — 
The  icy  hand  had  severed  breast  from  breast; 
Left  life  to  toil,  and  summoned  Death  to  rest. 
Full  fifty  years  since  then  have  passed  away. 
Her  cheek  is  furrowed,  and  her  hair  is  gray. 
Yet,  when  she  speaks  of  Jiim  (the  times  are  rare), 
Hear  in  her  voice  how  youth  still  trembles  there. 
The  very  name  of  that  young  life  that  died 
Still  heaves  the  bosom,  and  recalls  the  bride. 
Lone  o'er  the  widow's  hearth  those  years  have  fled, 
The  daily  toil  still  wins  the  daily  bread; 
No  books  deck  sorrow  with  fantastic  dyes; 
Her  fond  romance  her  woman  heart  supplies ; 
And,  haply  in  the  few  still  moments  given, 
(Day's  taskwork  done),  to  memory,  death,  and  heaven, 
To  that  unuttered  poem  may  belong 
Thoughts  of  such  pathos  as  had  beggared  song. 


THE   IDEAL  WORLD.  11 

VIII. 

HENCE   IN   HOPE,    MEMORY,    AND   PRAYER,    ALL   OF    US   ARE    POETS. 

Yes,  wliile  thou  hoi)est,  music  fills  the  air, 

While  thou  rememberest,  life  reclothes  the  clod; 
While  thou  canst  feel  the  electric  chain  of  prayer, 

Breathe  but  a  thought,  and  be  a  soul  with  God ! 
Let  not  these  forms  of  matter  bound  thine  eye. 

He  who  the  vanishing  point  of  Human  things 
Lifts  from  the  landscape,  lost  amidst  the  sky, 

Has  found  the  Ideal  which  the  poet  sings, 
Has  pierced  the  pall  around  the  senses  thrown, 
And  is  himself  a  poet,  though  unknown. 

IX. 

APPLICATION  OF  THE  POEM  TO  THE  TALE  TO  WHICH  IT  IS  PRE- 
FIXED.—  THE  RHINE, —  ITS  IDEAL  CHARACTER  IN  ITS  HISTORI- 
CAL  AND   LEGENDARY   ASSOCIATIONS. 

Eno' !  —  my  song  is  closing,  and  to  thee, 

Land  of  the  North,  I  dedicate  its  lay ; 
As  I  have  done  the  simple  tale  to  be 

The  drama  of  this  prelude ! 

Far  away 
Rolls  the  swift  Rhine  beneath  the  starry  ray; 
But  to  my  ear  its  haunted  waters  sigh; 
Its  moonlight  mountains  glimmer  on  my  eye ; 
On  wave,  on  marge,  as  on  a  wizard's  glass, 
Imperial  ghosts  in  dim  procession  pass ; 
Lords  of  the  wild,  the  first  great  Father-men, 
Their  fane  the  hill-top,  and  their  home  the  glen; 
Frowning  they  fade ;  a  bridge  of  steel  appears 
With  frank-eyed  Csesar  smiling  through  the  spears; 
The  march  moves  onwards,  and  the  mirror  brings 
The  Gothic  crowns  of  Carlovingian  kings : 
Vanished  alike!     The  Hermit  rears  his  Cross, 
And  barbs  neigh  shrill,  and  plumes  in  tumult  toss, 


12  THE  IDEAL   WORLD. 

While  (knighthood's  sole  sweet  conquest  from  the  Moor) 
Sings  to  Arabian  lutes  the  Tourbadour. 

Not  yet,  not  yet;  still  glide  some  lingering  shades, 
Still  breathe  some  murmurs  as  the  starlight  fades, 
Still  from  her  rock  I  hear  the  Siren  call. 
And  see  the  tender  ghost  in  Koland's  mouldering  hall! 

X. 

APPLICATION  OF  THE  POEM  CONTINUED.  —  THE  IDEAL  LENDS  ITS 
AID  TO  THE  MOST  FAMILIAR  AND  THE  MOST  ACTUAL  SORROW  OF 
LIFE.  —  FICTION  COMPARED  TO  SLEEP,  —  IT  STRENGTHENS  WHILE 
IT    SOOTHES. 

Trite  were  the  tale  I  tell  of  love  and  doom, 

(Whose  life  hath  loved  not,  whose  not  mourned  a  tomb?) 

But  fiction  draws  a  poetry  from  grief. 

As  art  its  healing  from  the  withered  leaf. 

Play  thou,  sweet  Fancy,  round  the  sombre  truth. 

Crown  the  sad  Genius  ere  it  lower  the  torch! 
When  death  the  altar  and  the  victim  youth. 

Flutes  fill  the  air,  and  garlands  deck  the  porch. 
As  down  the  river  drifts  the  Pilgrim  sail, 
Clothe  the  rude  hill-tops,  lull  the  Northern  gale; 
With  childlike  lore  the  fatal  course  beguile, 
And  brighten  death  with  Love's  untiring  smile. 
Along  the  banks  let  fairy  forms  be  seen 
"  By  fountain  clear,  or  spangled  starlike  sheen. "  i 
Let  sound  and  shape  to  which  the  sense  is  dull 
Haunt  the  soul  opening  on  the  Beautiful. 
And  when  at  length,  the  symbol  voyage  done. 
Surviving  Grief  shrinks  lonely  from  the  sun. 
By  tender  types  show  Grief  what  memories  bloom 
From  lost  delight,  what  fairies  guard  the  tomb. 
Scorn  not  the  dream,  0  world- worn ;  pause  a  while. 
New  strength  shall  nerve  thee  as  the  dreams  beguile. 
Stung  by  the  rest,  less  far  shall  seem  the  goal ! 
As  sleep  to  life,  so  fiction  to  the  soul. 

1  "  Midsummer  Niglit's  Dream." 


THE    PILGKIMS    OF    THE    EHINE 


THE 

PILGRIMS   OF    THE    RHINE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

IN   WHICH   THE   READER   IS    INTRODUCED    TO    QUEEN 
NYMPHALIN. 

In  one  of  those  green  woods  which  belong  so  peculiarly  to 
our  island  (for  the  Continent  has  its  forests,  but  England  its 
woods)  there  lived,  a  short  time  ago,  a  charming  little  fairy 
called  Nymphalin.  I  believe  she  is  descended  from  a  younger 
branch  of  the  house  of  Mab;  but  perhaps  that  may  only  be  a 
genealogical  fable,  for  your  fairies  are  very  susceptible  to  the 
pride  of  ancestry,  and  it  is  impossible  to  deny  that  they  fall 
somewhat  reluctantly  into  the  liberal  opinions  so  much  in 
vogue  at  the  present  day. 

However  that  may  be,  it  is  quite  certain  that  all  the  cour- 
tiers in  Nymphalin's  domain  (for  she  was  a  queen  fairy)  made 
a  point  of  asserting  her  right  to  this  illustrious  descent;  and 
accordingly  she  quartered  the  Mab  arms  with  her  own, —  three 
acorns  vert,  with  a  grasshopper  rampant.  It  was  as  merry  a 
little  court  as  could  possibly  be  conceived,  and  on  a  fine  mid- 
summer night  it  would  have  been  worth  while  attending  the 
queen's  balls;  that  is  to  say,  if  you  could  have  got  a  ticket, — 
a  favour  not  obtained  without  great  interest. 

But,  unhappily,  until  both  men  and  fairies  adopt  Mr. 
Owen's  proposition,  and  live  in  parallelograms,  they  will 
always  be  the  victims  of  ennui.  And  Nymphalin,  who  had 
been  disappointed  in  love,  and  was  still  unmarried,  had  for 
the  last  five  or  six  months  been  exceedingly  tired  even  of  giv- 


16  THE  PILGRIMS  OF   THE  RHINE. 

ing  balls.  She  yawned  very  frequently,  and  consequently 
yawning  became  a  fashion. 

"But  why  don't  we  have  some  new  dances,  my  Pipalee?" 
said  Nymphalin  to  her  favourite  maid  of  honour;  "these 
waltzes  are  very  old-fashioned." 

"Very  old-fashioned,"  said  Pipalee. 

The  queen  gaped,  and  Pipalee  did  the  same. 

It  was  a  gala  night ;  the  court  was  held  in  a  lone  and  beau- 
tiful hollow,  with  the  wild  brake  closing  round  it  on  every 
side,  so  that  no  human  step  could  easily  gain  the  spot.  Wher- 
ever the  shadows  fell  upon  the  brake  a  glow-worm  made  a 
point  of  exhibiting  itself,  and  the  bright  August  moon  sailed 
slowly  above,  pleased  to  look  down  upon  so  charming  a  scene 
of  merriment ;  for  they  wrong  the  moon  who  assert  that  she 
has  an  objection  to  mirth, —  with  the  mirth  of  fairies  she  has 
all  possible  sympathy.  Here  and  there  in  the  thicket  the 
scarce  honeysuckles  —  in  August  honeysuckles  are  somewhat 
out  of  season  —  hung  their  rich  festoons,  and  at  that  moment 
they  were  crowded  with  the  elderly  fairies,  who  had  given  up 
dancing  and  taken  to  scandal.  Besides  the  honeysuckle  you 
might  see  the  hawkweed  and  the  white  convolvulus,  varying 
the  soft  verdure  of  the  thicket;  and  mushrooms  in  abundance 
had  sprung  up  in  the  circle,  glittering  in  the  silver  moon- 
light, and  acceptable  beyond  measure  to  the  dancers:  every 
one  knows  how  agreeable  a  thing  tents  are  in  ^fete  champetre  ! 
I  was  mistaken  in  saying  that  the  brake  closed  the  circle  en- 
tirely round;  for  there  was  one  gap,  scarcely  apparent  to  mor- 
tals, through  which  a  fairy  at  least  might  catch  a  view  of  a 
brook  that  was  close  at  hand,  rippling  in  the  stars,  and 
checkered  at  intervals  by  the  rich  weeds  floating  on  the 
surface,  interspersed  with  the  delicate  arrowhead  and  the 
silver  water-lily.  Then  the  trees  themselves,  in  their  prodi- 
gal variety  of  hues, —  the  blue,  the  purple,  the  yellowing 
tint,  the  tender  and  silvery  verdure,  and  the  deep  mass  of 
shade  frowning  into  black ;  the  willow,  the  elm,  the  ash,  the 
fir,  and  the  lime,  "and,  best  of  all.  Old  England's  haunted 
oak;  "  these  hues  were  broken  again  into  a  thousand  minor 
and  subtler  shades  as  the  twinkling  stars  pierced  the  foliage, 


THE   PILGRIMS   OF   THE   RHINE.  17 

or  tlie  moon  slept  with  a  richer  light  upon  some  favoured 
glade. 

It  was  a  gala  night;  the  elderly  fairies,  as  1  said  before, 
•were  chatting  among  the  honeysuckles ;  the  young  were  flirt- 
ing, and  dancing,  and  making  love;  the  middle-aged  talked 
politics  under  the  mushrooms;  and  the  queen  herself  and 
half-a-dozen  of  her  favourites  were  yawning  their  pleasure 
from  a  little  mound  covered  with  the  thickest  moss. 

"  It  has  been  very  dull,  madam,  ever  since  Prince  Fayzen- 
heim  left  us,"  said  the  fairy  Nip. 

The  queen  sighed. 

"  How  handsome  the  prince  is !  "  said  Pipalee. 

The  queen  blushed. 

"  He  wore  the  prettiest  dress  in  the  world ;  and  what  a  mus- 
tache !  "  cried  Pipalee,  fanning  herself  with  her  left  wing. 

"  He  was  a  coxcomb, "  said  the  lord  treasurer,  sourly.  The 
lord  treasurer  was  the  honestest  and  most  disagreeable  fairy 
at  court;  he  was  an  admirable  husband,  brother,  son,  cousin, 
uncle,  and  godfather, —  it  was  these  virtues  that  had  made 
him  a  lord  treasurer.  Unfortunately  they  had  not  made  him 
a  sensible  fairy.  He  was  like  Charles  the  Second  in  one  re- 
spect, for  he  never  did  a  wise  thiug;  but  he  was  not  like  him 
in  another,  for  he  very  often  said  a  foolish  one. 

The  queen  frowned. 

"  A  young  prince  is  not  the  worse  for  that, "  retorted  Pipa- 
lee. "  Heigho !  does  your  Majesty  think  his  Highness  likely 
to  return?  " 

"Don't  tease  me,"  said  Nymphalin,  pettishly. 

The  lord  treasurer,  by  way  of  giving  the  conversation  an 
agreeable  turn,  reminded  her  Majesty  that  there  was  a  prodi- 
gious accumulation  of  business  to  see  to,  especially  that  diffi- 
cult affair  about  the  emmet-wasp  loan.  Her  Majesty  rose,  and 
leaning  on  Pipalee's  arm,  walked  down  to  the  supper  tent. 

"Pray,"  said  the  fairy  Trip  to  the  fairy  Nip, "what  is  all 
this  talk  about  Prince  Fayzenheim?  Excuse  my  ignorance; 
I  am  only  just  out,  your  know." 

"Why,"  answered  Nip,  a  young  courtier,  not  a  marrying 
fairy,  but  very  seductive,  "  the  story  runs  thus :  Last  summer 

2 


18  THE   PILGRIMS   OF   THE   RHINE. 

a  foreigner  visited  us,  calling  himself  Prince  Fayzenheim : 
one  of  your  German  fairies,  1  fancy ;  no  great  things,  but  an 
excellent  waltzer.  He  wore  long  spurs,  made  out  of  the 
stings  of  the  horse-flies  in  the  Black  Forest;  his  cap  sat  on 
one  side,  and  his  mustachios  curled  like  the  lip  of  the  dragon- 
flower.  He  was  on  his  travels,  and  amused  himself  by  mak- 
ing love  to  the  queen.  You  can't  fancy,  dear  Trip,  how  fond 
she  was  of  hearing  him  tell  stories  about  the  strange  creatures 
of  Germany, — about  wild  huntsmen,  water-sprites,  and  a  pack 
of  such  stuff,"  added  Nip,  contemptuously,  for  Nip  was  a 
freethinker. 

"In  short?"  said  Trip. 

"  In  short,  she  loved, "  cried  Nip,  with  a  theatrical  air. 

"And  the  prince?" 

"  Packed  up  his  clothes,  and  sent  on  his  travelling-carriage, 
in  order  that  he  might  go  at  his  ease  on  the  top  of  a  stage- 
pigeon;  in  short  —  as  you  say  —  in  short,  he  deserted  the 
queen,  and  ever  since  she  has  set  the  fashion  of  yawning." 

"It  was  very  naughty  in  him,"  said  the  gentle  Trip. 

"Ah,  my  dear  creature,"  cried  Nip,  "if  it  had  been  you  to 
whom  he  had  paid  his  addresses !  " 

Trip  simpered,  and  the  old  fairies  from  their  seats  in  the 
honeysuckles  observed  she  was  "sadly  conducted;"  but  the 
Trips  had  never  been  too  respectable. 

Meanwhile  the  queen,  leaning  on  Pipalee,  said,  after  a 
short  pause,  "Do  you  know  I  have  formed  a  plan!  " 

"How  delightful!  "  cried  Pipalee.     "Another  gala!  " 

"Pooh,  surely  even  you  must  be  tired  with  such  levities: 
the  spirit  of  the  age  is  no  longer  frivolous ;  and  I  dare  say  as 
the  march  of  gravity  proceeds,  we  shall  get  rid  of  galas  alto- 
gether." The  queen  said  this  with  an  air  of  inconceivable  wis- 
dom, for  the  "  Society  for  the  Diffusion  of  General  Stupefaction  " 
had  been  recently  established  among  the  fairies,  and  its  tracts 
had  driven  all  the  light  reading  out  of  the  market.  "The 
Penny  Proser  "  had  contributed  greatly  to  the  increase  of  knowl- 
edge and  yawning,  so  visibly  progressive  among  the  courtiers. 

"No,"  continued  Nymphalin;  "I  have  thought  of  something 
better  than  galas.     Let  us  travel!  " 


THE  PILGPwIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  19 

Pipalee  clasped  her  hands  in  ecstasy. 

"  Where  shall  we  travel?  " 

"Let  us  go  up  the  lUiine,"  said  the  queen,  turning  away 
her  head.  *'We  shall  be  amazingly  welcomed;  there  are 
fairies  without  number  all  the  way  by  its  banks,  and  various 
distant  connections  of  ours  whose  nature  and  properties  will 
afford  interest  and  instruction  to  a  philosophical  mind." 

"Number  Nip,  for  instance,"  cried  the  gay  Pipalee. 

"The  Red  Man!  "  said  the  graver  Nymphalin. 

"  Oh,  my  queen,  what  an  excellent  scheme !  "  and  Pipalee 
was  so  lively  during  the  rest  of  the  night  that  the  old  fairies 
in  the  honeysuckle  insinuated  that  the  lady  of  honour  had 
drunk  a  buttercup  too  much  of  the  Maydew. 


CHAPTER  II. 


THE   LOVERS. 


I  WISH  only  for  such  readers  as  give  themselves  heart  and 
soul  up  to  me, —  if  they  begin  to  cavil  I  have  done  with  them; 
their  fancy  should  put  itself  entirely  under  my  management; 
and,  after  all,  ought  they  not  to  be  too  glad  to  get  out  of  this 
hackneyed  and  melancholy  world,  to  be  run  away  with  by  an 
author  who  promises  them  something  new? 

From  the  heights  of  Bruges,  a  Mortal  and  his  betrothed 
gazed  upon  the  scene  below.  They  saw  the  sun  set  slowly 
amongst  purple  masses  of  cloud,  and  the  lover  turned  to  his 
mistress  and  sighed  deeply;  for  her  cheek  was  delicate  in  its 
blended  roses,  beyond  the  beauty  that  belongs  to  the  hues  of 
health ;  and  when  he  saw  the  sun  sinking  from  the  world,  the 
thought  came  upon  him  that  she  was  his  sun,  and  the  glory 
that  she  shed  over  his  life  might  soon  pass  away  into  the 
bosom  of  the  "ever-during  Dark."  But  against  the  clouds 
rose  one  of  the  many  spires  that  characterize  the  town  of 
Bruges;  and  on  that  spire,  tapering  into  heaven,  rested  the 


20  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

eyes  of  Gertrude  Vane.  The  different  objects  that  caught  the 
gaze  of  each  was  emblematic  both  of  the  different  channel  of 
their  thoughts  and  the  different  elements  of  their  nature :  he 
thought  of  the  sorrow,  she  of  the  consolation;  his  heart 
prophesied  of  the  passing  away  from  earth,  hers  of  the  as- 
cension into  heaven.  The  lower  part  of  the  landscape  was 
wrapped  in  shade ;  but  just  where  the  bank  curved  round  in 
a  mimic  bay,  the  waters  caught  the  sun's  parting  smile,  and 
rippled  against  the  herbage  that  clothed  the  shore,  with  a 
scarcely  noticeable  wave.  There  are  two  of  the  numerous 
mills  which  are  so  picturesque  a  feature  of  that  country, 
standing  at  a  distance  from  each  other  on  the  rising  banks, 
their  sails  perfectly  still  in  the  cool  silence  of  the  evening, 
and  adding  to  the  rustic  tranquillity  which  breathed  around. 
For  to  me  there  is  something  in  the  still  sails  of  one  of  those 
inventions  of  man's  industry  peculiarly  eloquent  of  repose: 
the  rest  seems  typical  of  the  repose  of  our  own  passions, 
short  and  uncertain,  contrary  to  their  natural  ordination ;  and 
doubly  impressive  from  the  feeling  which  admonishes  us  how 
precarious  is  the  stillness,  how  utterly  dependent  on  every 
wind  rising  at  any  moment  and  from  any  quarter  of  the 
heavens!  They  saw  before  them  no  living  forms,  save  of  one 
or  two  peasants  yet  lingering  by  the  water-side. 

Trevylyan  drew  closer  to  his  Gertrude;  for  his  love  was 
inexpressibly  tender,  and  his  vigilant  anxiety  for  her  made 
his  stern  frame  feel  the  first  coolness  of  the  evening  even  be- 
fore she  felt  it  herself. 

"Dearest,  let  me  draw  your  mantle  closer  round  you," 

Gertrude  smiled  her  thanks. 

"  I  feel  better  than  I  have  done  for  weeks, "  said  she ;  "  and 
when  once  we  get  into  the  Rhine,  you  will  see  me  grow  so 
strong  as  to  shock  all  your  interest  for  me." 

"  Ah,  would  to  Heaven  my  interest  for  you  maj^  be  put  to 
such  an  ordeal !  "  said  Trevylyan ;  and  they  turned  slowly  to 
the  inn,  where  Gertrude's  father  already  awaited  them. 

Trevylyan  was  of  a  wild,  a  resolute,  and  an  active  nature. 
Thrown  on  the  world  at  the  age  of  sixteen,  he  had  passed  his 
youth  in  alternate  pleasure,  travel,  and  solitary  study.    At  the 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  21 

age  in  which  manhood  is  least  susceptible  to  caprice,  and  most 
perhaps  to  passion,  he  fell  in  love  with  the  loveliest  person 
that  ever  dawned  upon  a  poet's  vision.  I  say  this  without 
exaggeration,  for  Gertrude  Vane's  was  indeed  the  beauty,  but 
the  perishable  beauty,  of  a  dream.  It  happened  most  singu- 
larly to  Trevylyan  (but  he  was  a  singular  man),  that  being 
naturally  one  whose  affections  it  was  very  difficult  to  excite, 
he  should  have  fallen  in  love  at  first  sight  with  a  person 
whose  disease,  already  declared,  would  have  deterred  any 
other  heart  from  risking  its  treasures  on  a  bark  so  utterly 
unfitted  for  the  voyage  of  life.  Consumption,  but  consump- 
tion in  its  most  beautiful  shape,  had  set  its  seal  upon  Ger- 
trude Vane,  when  Trevylyan  first  saw  her,  and  at  once  loved. 
He  knew  the  danger  of  the  disease ;  he  did  not,  except  at  in- 
tervals, deceive  himself;  he  wrestled  against  the  new  passion: 
but,  stern  as  his  nature  was,  he  could  not  conquer  it.  He 
loved,  he  confessed  his  love,  and  Gertrude  returned  it. 

In  a  love  like  this,  there  is  something  ineffably  beautiful, — 
it  is  essentially  the  poetry  of  passion.  Desire  grows  hallowed 
by  fear,  and,  scarce  permitted  to  indulge  its  vent  in  the  com- 
mon channel  of  the  senses,  breaks  forth  into  those  vague 
yearnings,  those  lofty  aspirations,  which  pine  for  the  Bright, 
the  Far,  the  Unattained.  It  is  "the  desire  of  the  moth  for 
the  star;  "  it  is  the  love  of  the  soul! 

Gertrude  was  advised  by  the  faculty  to  try  a  southern  cli- 
mate; but  Gertrude  was  the  daughter  of  a  German  mother, 
and  her  young  fancy  had  been  nursed  in  all  the  wild  legends 
and  the  alluring  visions  that  belong  to  the  children  of  the 
Rhine.  Her  imagination,  more  romantic  than  classic,  yearned 
for  the  vine-clad  hills  and  haunted  forests  which  are  so  fer- 
tile in  their  spells  to  those  who  have  once  drunk,  even  spar- 
ingly, of  the  Literature  of  the  North.  Her  desire  strongly 
expressed,  her  declared  conviction  that  if  any  change  of 
scene  could  yet  arrest  the  progress  of  her  malady  it  would  be 
the  shores  of  the  river  she  had  so  longed  to  visit,  prevailed 
with  her  physicians  and  her  father,  and  they  consented  to 
that  pilgrimage  along  the  Rhine  on  which  Gertrude,  her 
father,  and  her  lover  were  now  bound. 


22  THE   PILGRIMS   OF   THE   RHINE. 

It  was  by  the  green  curve  of  the  banks  which  the  lovers 
saw  from  the  heights  of  Bruges  that  our  fairy  travellers  met. 
They  were  reclining  on  the  water-side,  playing  at  dominos 
with  eye-bright  and  the  black  specks  of  the  trefoil ;  namely, 
Pipalee,  Nip,  Trip,  and  the  lord  treasurer  (for  that  was  all 
the  party  selected  by  the  queen  for  her  travelling  cortege)^ 
and  waiting  for  her  Majesty,  who,  being  a  curious  little  elf, 
had  gone  round  the  town  to  reconnoitre. 

"Bless  me! "  said  the  lord  treasurer;  "  what  a  mad  freak  is 
this!  Crossing  that  immense  pond  of  water!  And  was  there 
ever  such  bad  grass  as  this?  One  may  see  that  the  fairies 
thrive  ill  here." 

"You  are  always  discontented,  my  lord,"  said  Pipalee; 
"  but  then  you  are  somewhat  too  old  to  travel, —  at  least,  un- 
less you  go  in  your  nutshell  and  four." 

The  lord  treasurer  did  not  like  this  remark,  so  he  muttered 
a  peevish  pshaw,  and  took  a  pinch  of  honeysuckle  dust  to 
console  himself  for  being  forced  to  put  up  with  so  much 
frivolity. 

At  this  moment,  ere  the  moon  was  yet  at  her  middest 
height,  Nymphalin  joined  her  subjects. 

"I  have  just  returned,"  said  she,  with  a  melancholy  expres- 
sion on  her  countenance,  "from  a  scene  that  has  almost  re- 
newed in  me  that  sympathy  with  human  beings  which  of  late 
years  our  race  has  well-nigh  relinquished. 

"I  hurried  through  the  town  without  noticing  much  food 
for  adventure.  I  paused  for  a  moment  on  a  fat  citizen's  pil- 
low, and  bade  him  dream  of  love.  He  woke  in  a  fright,  and 
ran  down  to  see  that  his  cheeses  were  safe.  I  swept  with  a 
light  wing  over  a  politician's  eyes,  and  straightway  he  dreamed 
of  theatres  and  music.  I  caught  an  undertaker  in  his  first 
nap,  and  I  have  left  him  whirled  into  a  waltz.  For  what 
would  be  sleep  if  it  did  not  contrast  life?  Then  I  came  to  a 
solitary  chamber,  in  which  a  girl,  in  her  tenderest  youth, 
knelt  by  the  bedside  in  prayer,  and  I  saw  that  the  death- 
spirit  had  passed  over  her,  and  the  blight  was  on  the  leaves 
of  the  rose.  The  room  was  still  and  hushed,  the  angel  of 
Purity  kept  watch  there.     Her  heart  was  full  of  love,  and  yet 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF   THE  RHINE.  23 

of  holy  thoughts,  and  I  bade  her  dream  of  the  long  life  denied 
to  her, —  of  a  happy  home,  of  the  kisses  of  her  young  lover, 
of  eternal  faith,  and  unwaning  tenderness.  Let  her  at  least 
enjoy  in  dreams  what  Fate  has  refused  to  Truth!  And,  pass- 
ing from  the  room,  I  found  her  lover  stretched  in  his  cloak 
beside  the  door;  for  he  reads  with  a  feverish  and  desperate 
prophecy  the  doom  that  waits  her ;  and  so  loves  he  the  very 
air  she  breathes,  the  very  ground  she  treads,  that  when  she 
has  left  his  sight  he  creeps,  silently  and  unknown  to  her,  to 
the  nearest  spot  hallowed  by  her  presence,  anxious  that  while 
yet  she  is  on  earth  not  an  hour,  not  a  moment,  should  be 
wasted  upon  other  thoughts  than  those  that  belong  to  her; 
and  feeling  a  security,  a  fearful  joy,  in  lessening  the  distance 
that  now  only  momentarily  divides  them.  And  that  love 
seemed  to  me  not  as  the  love  of  the  common  world,  and  I 
stayed  my  wings  and  looked  upon  it  as  a  thing  that  centuries 
might  pass  and  bring  no  parallel  to,  in  its  beauty  and  its  mel- 
ancholy truth.  But  I  kept  away  the  sleep  from  the  lover's 
eyes,  for  well  I  knew  that  sleep  was  a  tyrant,  that  shortened 
the  brief  time  of  waking  tenderness  for  the  living,  yet  spared 
him;  and  one  sad,  anxious  thought  of  her  was  sweeter,  in 
spite  of  its  sorrow,  than  the  brightest  of  fairy  dreams.  So  I 
left  him  awake,  and  watching  there  through  the  long  night, 
and  felt  that  the  children  of  earth  have  still  something  that 
unites  them  to  the  spirits  of  a  finer  race,  so  long  as  they  re- 
tain amongst  them  the  presence  of  real  love !  " 

And  oh !  is  there  not  a  truth  also  in  our  fictions  of  the  Un- 
seen World?  Are  there  not  yet  bright  lingerers  by  the  forest 
and  the  stream?  Do  the  moon  and  the  soft  stars  look  out 
on  no  delicate  and  winged  forms  bathing  in  their  light?  Are 
the  fairies  and  the  invisible  hosts  but  the  children  of  our 
dreams,  and  not  their  inspiration?  Is  that  all  a  delusion 
which  speaks  from  the  golden  page?  And  is  the  world  only 
given  to  harsh  and  anxious  travellers  that  walk  to  and  fro  in 
pursuit  of  no  gentle  shadows?  Are  the  chimeras  of  the  pas- 
sions the  sole  spirits  of  the  universe?  No!  while  my  remem- 
brance treasures  in  its  deepest  cell  the  image  of  one  no  more, 
—  one  who  was  "  not  of  the  earth,  earthy ;  "  one   in  whom 


24  THE  PILGRIMS   OF   THE   RHINE. 

love  was  the  essence  of  thoughts  divine;  one  whose  shape  and 
mould,  whose  heart  and  genius,  would,  had  Poesy  never  be- 
fore dreamed  it,  have  called  forth  the  first  notion  of  spirits 
resembling  mortals,  but  not  of  them, —  no,  Gertrude!  while  I 
remember  you,  the  faith,  the  trust  in  brighter  shapes  and 
fairer  natures  than  the  world  knows  of,  comes  clinging  to  my 
heart;  and  still  will  I  think  that  Fairies  might  have  watched 
over  your  sleep  and  Spirits  have  ministered  to  your  dreams. 


CHAPTER  III. 


FEELINGS. 


Gertrude  and  her  companions  proceeded  by  slow  and,  to 
her,  delightful  stages  to  Rotterdam.  Trevylyan  sat  by  her 
side,  and  her  hand  was  ever  in  his;  and  when  her  delicate 
frame  became  sensible  of  fatigue,  her  head  drooped  on  his 
shoulder  as  its  natural  resting-place.  Her  father  was  a  man 
who  had  lived  long  enough  to  have  encountered  many  reverses 
of  fortune,  and  they  had  left  him,  as  I  am  apt  to  believe  long 
adversity  usually  does  leave  its  prey,  somewhat  chilled  and 
somewhat  hardened  to  aftection;  passive  and  quiet  of  hope, 
resigned  to  the  worst  as  to  the  common  order  of  events,  and 
expecting  little  from  the  best,  as  an  unlooked-for  incident  in 
the  regularity  of  human  afflictions.  He  was  insensible  of  his 
daughter's  danger,  for  he  was  not  one  whom  the  fear  of  love 
endows  with  prophetic  vision;  and  he  lived  tranquilly  in  the 
present,  without  asking  what  new  misfortune  awaited  him  in 
the  future.  Yet  he  loved  his  child,  his  only  child,  with  what- 
ever of  affection  was  left  him  by  the  many  shocks  his  heart 
had  received;  and  in  her  approaching  connection  with  one 
rich  and  noble  as  Trevylyan,  he  felt  even  something  border- 
ing upon  pleasure.  Lapped  in  the  apathetic  indifference  of 
his  nature,  he  leaned  back  in  the  carriage,  enjoying  the  bright 
weather  that  attended  their  journey,  and  sensible  —  for  he 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  25 

■was  one  of  fine  and  cultivated  taste  —  of  whatever  beauties  of 
nature  or  remains  of  art  varied  their  course.  A  companion  of 
this  sort  was  the  most  agreeable  that  two  persons  never  need- 
ing a  third  could  desire;  he  left  them  undisturbed  to  the 
intoxication  of  their  mutual  presence;  he  marked  not  the 
interchange  of  glances;  he  listened  not  to  the  whisper,  the 
low  delicious  whisper,  with  which  the  heart  speaks  its  sym- 
pathy to  heart.  He  broke  not  that  charmed  silence  which 
falls  over  us  when  the  thoughts  are  full,  and  words  leave 
nothing  to  explain;  that  repose  of  feeling;  that  certainty  that 
we  are  understood  without  the  effort  of  words,  which  makes 
the  real  luxury  of  intercourse  and  the  true  enchantment  of 
travel.  What  a  memory  hours  like  these  bequeath,  after  we 
have  settled  down  into  the  calm  occupation  of  common  life! 
How  beautiful,  through  the  vista  of  years,  seems  that  brief 
moonlight  track  upon  the  waters  of  our  youth ! 

And  Trevylyan's  nature,  which,  as  I  have  said  before,  was 
naturally  hard  and  stern,  which  was  hot,  irritable,  ambitious, 
and  prematurely  tinctured  with  the  policy  and  lessons  of  the 
world,  seemed  utterly  changed  by  the  peculiarities  of  his  love. 
Every  hour,  every  moment  was  full  of  incident  to  him;  every 
look  of  Gertrude's  was  entered  in  the  tablets  of  his  heart;  so 
that  his  love  knew  no  languor,  it  required  no  change :  he  was 
absorbed  in  it, — it  was  himself!  And  he  was  soft,  and  watch- 
ful as  the  step  of  a  mother  by  the  couch  of  her  sick  child; 
the  lion  within  him  was  tamed  by  indomitable  love;  the  sad- 
ness, the  presentiment,  that  was  mixed  with  all  his  passion 
for  Gertrude,  filled  him  too  with  that  poetry  of  feeling  which 
is  the  result  of  thoughts  weighing  upon  us,  and  not  to  be  ex- 
pressed by  ordinary  language.  In  this  part  of  their  journey, 
as  I  find  by  the  date,  were  the  following  lines  written ;  they 
are  to  be  judged  as  the  lines  of  one  in  whom  emotion  and  truth 
were  the  only  inspiration:  — 


As  leaves  left  darkling  in  the  flush  of  day, 

When  glints  the  glad  sun  checkering  o'er  the  tree, 

I  see  the  green  earth  brightening  in  the  ray, 
Which  only  casts  a  shadow  upon  me ! 


26  THE  PILGRIMS  OF   THE  RHINE. 


What  are  the  beams,  the  flowers,  the  glory,  all 
Life's  glow  and  gloss,  the  music  and  the  bloom, 

When  every  sun  but  speeds  the  Paternal  Pull, 
And  Time  is  Deatli  that  dallies  with  the  Tomb  ? 


And  yet  —  oh  yet,  so  young,  so  pure  !  —  the  while 

Fresh  laugh  the  rose-hues  round  youth's  morning  sky. 

That  voice,  those  eyes,  the  deep  love  of  that  smile. 
Are  they  not  soul  —  all  soul  —  and  can  they  die  1 


Are  there  the  words  "  No  More  "  for  thoughts  like  ours  1 
Must  the  bark  sink  upon  so  soft  a  wave  ? 

Hath  the  short  summer  of  thy  life  no  flowers 
But  those  which  bloom  above  thine  early  grave  ■? 


O  God  !   and  what  is  life,  that  I  should  live  ? 

(Hath  not  the  world  enow  of  common  clay "?) 
And  she  —  the  Rose  —  whose  life  a  soul  could  give 

To  the  void  desert,  sigh  its  sweets  away  f 


And  I  that  love  thee  thus,  to  whom  the  air. 

Blest  by  thy  breath,  makes  heaven  where'er  it  be, 

Watch  thy  cheek  wane,  and  smile  away  despair. 
Lest  it  should  dim  one  hour  yet  left  to  Thee. 


Still  let  me  conquer  self ;  oh,  still  conceal 
By  the  smooth  brow  the  snake  that  coils  below ; 

Break,  break  my  heart !   it  comforts  yet  to  feel 
That  she  dreams  on,  unwakened  by  my  woe  ! 


Hushed,  where  the  Star's  soft  angel  loves  to  keep 
Watch  o'er  their  tide,  the  morning  waters  roll; 

So  glides  my  spirit,  — darkness  in  the  deep. 
But  o'er  the  wave  the  presence  of  thy  soul ! 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF   THE  RHINE.  27 

Gertrude  had  not  as  yet  the  presentiments  that  filled  the 
soul  of  Trevylyan.  She  thought  too  little  of  herself  to  know 
her  danger,  and  those  hours  to  her  were  hours  of  unniingled 
sweetness.  Sometimes,  indeed,  the  exhaustion  of  her  disease 
tinged  her  spirits  with  a  vague  sadness,  an  abstraction  came 
over  her,  and  a  languor  she  vainly  struggled  against.  These 
fits  of  dejection  and  gloom  touched  Trevylyan  to  the  quick; 
his  eye  never  ceased  to  Avatch  them,  nor  his  heart  to  soothe. 
Often  when  he  marked  them,  he  sought  to  attract  her  atten- 
tion from  what  he  fancied,  though  erringly,  a  sympathy  with 
his  own  forebodings,  and  to  lead  her  young  and  romantic  im- 
agination through  the  temporary  begviilements  of  fiction ;  for 
Gertrude  was  yet  in  the  first  bloom  of  youth,  and  all  the  dews 
of  beautiful  childhood  sparkled  freshly  from  the  virgin  blos- 
soms of  her  mind.  And  Trevylyan,  who  had  passed  some  of 
his  early  years  among  the  students  of  Leipsic,  and  was  deeply 
versed  in  the  various  world  of  legendary  lore,  ransacked  his 
memory''  for  such  tales  as  seemed  to  him  most  likely  to  win  her 
interest;  and  often  with  false  smiles  entered  into  the  playful 
tale,  or  oftener,  with  more  faithful  interest,  into  the  graver 
legend  of  trials  that  warned  yet  beguiled  them  from  their  own. 
Of  such  tales  I  have  selected  but  a  few ;  I  know  not  that  they 
are  the  least  unworthy  of  repetition, —  they  are  those  which 
many  recollections  induce  me  to  repeat  the  most  willingly. 
Gertrude  loved  these  stories,  for  she  had  not  yet  lost,  by  the 
coldness  of  the  world,  one  leaf  from  that  soft  and  wild  ro- 
mance which  belonged  to  her  beautiful  mind ;  and,  more  than 
all,  she  loved  the  sound  of  a  voice  which  every  day  became 
more  and  more  musical  to  her  ear.  "Shall  I  tell  you,"  said 
Trevylyan,  one  morning,  as  he  observed  her  gloomier  mood 
stealing  over  the  face  of  Gertrude, —  "shall  I  tell  you,  ere  yet 
we  pass  into  the  dull  land  of  Holland,  a  story  of  Malines, 
whose  spires  we  shall  shortly  see?"  Gertrude's  face  bright- 
ened at  once,  and  as  she  leaned  back  in  the  carriage  as  it 
whirled  rapidly  along,  and  fixed  her  deep  blue  eyes  on 
Trevylyan,  he  began  the  following  tale. 


28  THE  PILGRIMS  OF   THE  RHINE. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

THE    MAID    OF    MALIXES. 

It  was  noonday  in  the  town  of  Malines,  or  Mechlin,  as 
the  English  usually  term  it;  the  Sabbath  bell  had  summoned 
the  inhabitants  to  divine  worship;  and  the  crowd  that  had  loi- 
tered round  the  Church  of  St.  Rembauld  had  gradually  emptied 
itself  within  the  spacious  aisles  of  the  sacred  edifice. 

A  young  man  was  standing  in  the  street,  with  his  eyes  bent 
on  the  ground,  and  apparently  listening  for  some  sound;  for 
without  raising  his  looks  from  the  rude  pavement,  he  turned 
to  every  corner  of  it  with  an  intent  and  anxious  expression  of 
countenance.  He  held  in  one  hand  a  staif,  in  the  other  a 
long  slender  cord,  the  end  of  which  trailed  on  the  ground; 
every  now  and  then  he  called,  with  a  plaintive  voice,  *'  Fido, 
Eido,  come  back!  Why  hast  thou  deserted  me?"  Fido  re- 
turned not;  the  dog,  wearied  of  confinement,  had  slipped  from 
the  string,  and  was  at  play  with  his  kind  in  a  distant  quarter 
of  the  town,  leaving  the  blind  man  to  seek  his  way  as  he 
might  to  his  solitary  inn. 

By  and  by  a  light  step  passed  through  the  street,  and  the 
young  stranger's  face  brightened. 

"  Pardon  me, "  said  he,  turning  to  the  spot  where  his  quick 
ear  had  caught  the  sound,  ''and  direct  me,  if  you  are  not 
much  pressed  for  a  few  moments'  time,  to  the  hotel  'Mortier 
d'Or.'" 

It  was  a  young  woman,  whose  dress  betokened  that  she  be- 
longed to  the  middling  class  of  life,  whom  he  thus  addressed. 
"It  is  some  distance  hence,  sir,"  said  she;  "but  if  you  con- 
tinue your  way  straight  on  for  about  a  hundred  yards,  and 
then  take  the  second  turn  to  your  right  hand  —  '" 

"Alas!  "  interrupted  the  stranger,  with  a  melancholy  smile, 
"your  direction  will  avail  me  little;  my  dog  has  deserted  me, 
and  I  am  blind !  " 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  29 

There  was  something  in  these  words,  and  in  the  stranger's 
voice,  which  went  irresistibly  to  the  heai-t  of  the  young 
woman.  "Pray  forgive  me,"  she  said,  almost  with  tears  iu 
her  eyes,  "  I  did  not  perceive  your  — "  misfortune,  she  was 
about  to  say,  but  she  checked  herself  with  an  instinctive  deli- 
cacy. "Lean  upon  me,  I  will  conduct  you  to  the  door;  nay, 
sir,"  observing  that  he  hesitated,  "I  have  time  enough  to 
spare,  I  assure  you." 

The  stranger  placed  his  hand  on  the  young  woman's  arm; 
and  though  Lucille  was  naturally  so  bashful  that  even  her 
mother  would  laughingly  reproach  her  for  the  excess  of  a 
maiden  virtue,  she  felt  not  the  least  pang  of  shame,  as  she 
found  herself  thus  suddenly  walking  through  the  streets  of 
Malines  along  with  a  young  stranger,  whose  dress  and  air  be- 
tokened him  of  rank  superior  to  her  own. 

"Your  voice  is  very  gentle,"  said  he,  after  a  pause;  "and 
that,"  he  added,  with  a  slight  sigh,  "is  the  only  criterion  by 
which  I  know  the  young  and  the  beautiful !  "  Lucille  now 
blushed,  and  with  a  slight  mixture  of  pain  in  the  blush,  for 
she  knew  well  that  to  beauty  she  had  no  pretension.  "Are 
you  a  native  of  this  town?  "  continued  he. 

"Yes,  sir;  my  father  holds  a  small  office  in  the  customs, 
and  my  mother  and  I  eke  out  his  salary  by  making  lace. 
We  are  called  poor,  but  we  do  not  feel  it,  sir." 

"You  are  fortunate!  there  is  no  wealth  like  the  heart's 
wealth, —  content,"  answered  the  blind  man,  mournfully. 

"And,  monsieur,"  said  Lucille,  feeling  angry  with  herself 
that  she  had  awakened  a  natural  envy  in  the  stranger's  mind, 
and  anxious  to  change  the  subject  —  "  and,  monsieur,  has  he 
been  long  at  Malines?" 

"  But  yesterday.  I  am  passing  through  the  Low  Countries 
on  a  tour;  perhaps  you  smile  at  the  tour  of  a  blind  man,  but 
it  is  wearisome  even  to  the  blind  to  rest  always  in  the  same 
place.  I  thought  during  church-time,  when  the  streets  were 
empty,  that  I  might,  by  the  help  of  my  dog,  enjoy  safely  at 
least  the  air,  if  not  the  sight  of  the  town ;  but  there  are  some 
persons,  methinks,  who  cannot  have  even  a  dog  for  a  friend!  " 

The  blind  man  spoke  bitterly, —  the  desertion  of  his  dog 


30  THE   PILGRIMS   OF   THE   RHINE. 

had  touclied  him  to  the  core.  Lucille  wiped  her  eyes.  "  And 
does  Monsieur  travel  then  alone?"  said  she;  and  looking  at 
his  face  more  attentively  than  she  had  yet  ventured  to  do, 
she  saw  that  he  was  scarcely  above  two-and-twenty.  "His 
father,  and  his  'mother,''^  she  added,  with  an  emphasis  on  the 
last  word,  "are  they  not  with  him?" 

"  I  am  an  orphan !  "  answered  the  stranger ;  "  and  I  have 
neither  brother  nor  sister." 

The  desolate  condition  of  the  blind  man  quite  melted  Lu- 
cille; never  had  she  been  so  strongly  affected.  She  felt  a 
strange  flutter  at  the  heart,  a  secret  and  earnest  sympathy, 
that  attracted  her  at  once  towards  him.  She  wished  that 
Heaven  had  suffered  her  to  be  his  sister! 

The  contrast  between  the  youth  and  the  form  of  the  stranger, 
and  the  affliction  which  took  hope  from  the  one  and  activity 
from  the  other,  increased  the  compassion  he  excited.  His 
features  were  remarkably  regular,  and  had  a  certain  noble- 
ness in  their  outline;  and  his  frame  was  gracefully  and 
firmly  knit,  though  he  moved  cautiously  and  with  no  cheerful 
step. 

They  had  now  passed  into  a  narrow  street  leading  towards 
the  hotel,  when  they  heard  behind  them  the  clatter  of  hoofs; 
and  Lucille,  looking  hastily  back,  saw  that  a  troop  of  the 
Belgian  horse  was  passing  through  the  town. 

She  drew  her  charge  close  by  the  wall,  and  trembling  with 
fear  for  him,  she  stationed  herself  by  his  side.  The  troop 
passed  at  a  full  trot  through  the  street ;  and  at  the  sound  of 
their  clanging  arms,  and  the  ringing  hoofs  of  their  heavy 
chargers,  Lucille  might  have  seen,  had  she  looked  at  the 
blind  man's  face,  that  its  sad  features  kindled  with  enthu- 
siasm, and  his  head  was  raised  proudly  from  its  wonted  and 
melancholy  bend.  "  Thank  Heaven !  "  she  said,  as  the  troop 
had  nearly  passed  them,  "  the  danger  is  over !  "  Not  so. 
One  of  the  last  two  soldiers  who  rode  abreast  was  unfortu- 
nately mounted  on  a  young  and  unmanageable  horse.  The 
rider's  oaths  and  digging  spur  only  increased  the  fire  and 
impatience  of  the  charger;  it  plunged  from  side  to  side  of  the 
narrow  street. 


THE   PILGRIMS   OF   THE   RHINE.  31 

"  Look  to  yourselves ! "  cried  the  horseman,  as  he  was  borne 
on  to  the  place  where  Lucille  and  the  stranger  stood  against 
the  wall.     "Are  ye  mad?     Why  do  you  not  run?" 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  for  mercy's  sake,  he  is  blind!  "  cried 
Lucille,  clinging  to  the  stranger's  side. 

"Save  yourself,  my  kind  guide!"  said  the  stranger.  But 
Lucille  dreamed  not  of  such  desertion.  The  trooper  wrested 
the  horse's  head  from  the  spot  where  they  stood;  with  a 
snort,  as  it  felt  the  spur,  the  enraged  animal  lashed  out 
with  its  hind-legs;  and  Lucille,  unable  to  save  both,  threw 
herself  before  the  blind  man,  and  received  the  shock  directed 
against  him;  her  slight  and  delicate  arm  fell  broken  by  her 
side,  the  horseman  was  borne  onward.  "  Thank  God,  you  are 
saved!"  was  poor  Lucille's  exclamation;  and  she  fell,  over- 
come with  pain  and  terror,  into  the  arms  which  the  stranger 
mechanically  opened  to  receive  her. 

"My  guide!  my  friend!  "  cried  he,  "you  are  hurt,  you  —  " 

"No,  sir,"  interrupted  Lucille,  faintly,  "I  am  better,  I  am 
well.  This  arm,  if  you  please, —  we  are  not  far  from  your 
hotel  now." 

But  the  stranger's  ear,  tutored  to  every  inflection  of  voice, 
told  him  at  once  of  the  pain  she  suffered.  He  drew  from  her 
by  degrees  the  confession  of  the  injury  she  had  sustained;  but 
the  generous  girl  did  not  tell  him  it  had  been  incurred  solely 
in  his  protection.  He  now  insisted  on  reversing  their  duties, 
and  accompanying  her  to  her  home;  and  Lucille,  almost  faint- 
ing with  pain,  and  hardly  able  to  move,  was  forced  to  con- 
sent. But  a  few  steps  down  the  next  turning  stood  the 
humble  mansion  of  her  father.  They  reached  it;  and  Lucille 
scarcely  crossed  the  threshold,  before  she  sank  down,  and  for 
some  minutes  was  insensible  to  pain.  It  was  left  to  the 
stranger  to  explain,  and  to  beseech  them  immediately  to  send 
for  a  surgeon,  "the  most  skilful,  the  most  practised  in  the 
town,"  said  he.  "See,  I  am  rich,  and  this  is  the  least  I  can 
do  to  atone  to  your  generous  daughter,  for  not  forsaking  even 
a  stranger  in  peril." 

He  held  out  his  purse  as  he  spoke,  but  the  father  refused 
the  offer;  and  it  saved  the  blind  man  some  shame,  that  he 


32  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

could  not  see  the  blush  of  honest  resentment  with  which  so 
poor  a  species  of  renumeration  was  put  aside. 

The  young  man  stayed  till  the  surgeon  arrived,  till  the  arm 
was  set;  nor  did  he  depart  until  he  had  obtained  a  promise 
from  the  mother  that  he  should  learn  the  next  morning  how 
the  sufferer  had  passed  the  night. 

The  next  morning,  indeed,  he  had  intended  to  quit  a  town 
that  offers  but  little  temptation  to  the  traveller;  but  he  tar- 
ried day  after  day,  until  Lucille  herself  accompanied  her 
mother,  to  assure  him  of  her  recovery. 

You  know,  at  least  I  do,  dearest  Gertrude,  that  there  is 
such  a  thing  as  love  at  the  first  meeting, —  a  secret,  an  unac- 
countable affinity  between  persons  (strangers  before)  which 
draws  them  irresistibly  together, —  as  if  there  were  truth  in 
Plato's  beautiful  fantasy,  that  our  souls  were  a  portion  of  the 
stars,  and  that  spirits,  thus  attracted  to  each  other,  have  drawn 
their  original  light  from  the  same  orb,  and  yearn  for  a  re- 
newal of  their  former  union.  Yet  without  recurring  to  such 
fanciful  solutions  of  a  daily  mystery,  it  was  but  natural  that 
one  in  the  forlorn  and  desolate  condition  of  Eugene  St. 
Amand  should  have  felt  a  certain  tenderness  for  a  person 
who  had  so  generously  suffered  for  his  sake. 

The  darkness  to  which  he  was  condemned  did  not  shut 
from  his  mind's  eye  the  haunting  images  of  Ideal  beauty; 
rather,  on  the  contrary,  in  his  perpetual  and  unoccupied  soli- 
tude, he  fed  the  reveries  of  an  imagination  naturally  warm, 
and  a  heart  eager  for  sympathy  and  commune. 

He  had  said  rightly  that  his  only  test  of  beauty  was  in  the 
melody  of  voice ;  and  never  had  a  softer  or  more  thrilling  tone 
than  that  of  the  young  maiden  touched  upon  his  ear.  Her 
exclamation,  so  beautifully  denying  self,  so  devoted  in  its 
charity,  "  Thank  God,  7/oti  are  saved !  "  uttered  too  in  the  mo- 
ment of  her  own  suffering,  rang  constantly  upon  his  soul,  and 
he  yielded,  without  precisely  defining  their  nature,  to  vague 
and  delicious  sentiments,  that  his  youth  had  never  awakened 
to  till  then.  And  Lucille  —  the  very  accident  that  had  hap- 
pened to  her  on  his  behalf  only  deepened  the  interest  she  had 
already  conceived  for  one  who,  in  the  first  flush  of  youth,  was 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RIILNTE.  33 

thus  cut  off  from  the  glad  objects  of  life,  and  left  to  a  night 
of  years  desolate  and  alone.  There  is,  to  your  beautiful  and 
kindly  sex,  a  natural  inclination  to  protect.  This  makes  them 
the  angels  of  sickness,  the  comforters  of  age,  the  fosterers  of 
childhood;  and  this  feeling,  in  Lucille  peculiarly  developed, 
had  already  inexpressibly  linked  her  compassionate  nature  to 
the  lot  of  the  unfortunate  traveller.  With  ardent  affections, 
and  with  thoughts  beyond  her  station  and  her  years,  she  was 
not  without  that  modest  vanity  which  made  her  painfully 
susceptible  to  her  own  deficiencies  in  beauty.  Instinctively 
conscious  of  how  deeply  she  herself  could  love,  she  believed  it 
impossible  that  she  could  ever  be  so  loved  in  return.  The 
stranger,  so  superior  in  her  eyes  to  all  she  had  yet  seen,  was 
the  first  who  had  ever  addressed  her  in  that  voice  which  by 
tones,  not  words,  speaks  that  admiration  most  dear  to  a 
woman's  heart.  To  him  she  was  beautiful,  and  her  lovely 
mind  spoke  out,  undimmed  by  the  imperfections  of  her  face. 
Not,  indeed,  that  Lucille  was  wholly  without  personal  attrac- 
tion; her  light  step  and  graceful  form  were  elastic  with  the 
freshness  of  youth,  and  her  mouth  and  smile  had  so  gentle 
and  tender  an  expression,  that  there  were  moments  when  it. 
would  not  have  been  the  blind  only  who  would  have  mistaken 
her  to  be  beautiful.  Her  early  childhood  had  indeed  given 
the  promise  of  attractions,  which  the  smallpox,  that  then  fear- 
ful malady,  had  inexorably  marred.  It  had  not  only  seared 
the  smooth  skin  and  brilliant  hues,  but  utterly  changed  even 
the  character  of  the  features.  It  so  happened  that  Lucille's. 
family  were  celebrated  for  beauty,  and  vain  of  that  celebrity;, 
and  so  bitterly  had  her  parents  deplored  the  effects  of  the 
cruel  malady,  that  poor  Lucille  had  been  early  taught  to  con- 
sider them  far  more  grievous  than  they  really  were,  and  to 
exaggerate  the  advantages  of  that  beauty,  the  loss  of  which 
was  considered  by  her  parents  so  heavy  a  misfortune.  Lu- 
cille, too,  had  a  cousin  named  Julie,  who  was  the  wonder  of 
all  Malines  for  her  personal  perfections;  and  as  the  cousins 
were  much  together,  the  contrast  was  too  striking  not  to  occa- 
sion frequent  mortification  to  Lucille.  But  every  misfortune 
has  something  of  a  counterpoise;    and  the  consciousness  of 

3 


34  THE  PILGRIMS  OF   THE  RHINE. 

personal  inferiority  had  meekened,  without  souring,  her  tem- 
per, had  given  gentleness  to  a  spirit  that  otherwise  might 
have  been  too  high,  and  humility  to  a  mind  that  was  natu- 
rally strong,  impassioned,  and  energetic. 

And  yet  Lucille  had  long  conquered  the  one  disadvantage 
she  most  dreaded  in  the  want  of  beauty.  Lucille  was  never 
known  but  to  be  loved.  Wherever  came  her  presence,  her 
bright  and  soft  mind  diffused  a  certain  inexpressible  charm ; 
and  where  she  was  not,  a  something  was  absent  from  the 
scene  which  not  even  Julie's  beauty  could  replace. 

"I  propose,"  said  St.  Amand  to  Madame  le  Tisseur,  Lu- 
cille's  mother,  as  he  sat  in  her  little  salon, —  for  he  had  al- 
ready contracted  that  acquaintance  with  the  family  which 
permitted  him  to  be  led  to  their  house,  to  return  the  visits 
Madame  le  Tisseur  had  made  him,  and  his  dog,  once  more  re- 
turned a  penitent  to  his  master,  always  conducted  his  steps  to 
the  humble  abode,  and  stopped  instinctively  at  the  door, —  "I 
propose,"  said  St.  Amand,  after  a  pause,  and  with  some  em- 
barrassment, "to  stay  a  little  while  longer  at  Malines;  the  air 
agrees  with  me,  and  I  like  the  quiet  of  the  place;  but  you  are 
aware,  madam,  that  at  a  hotel  among  strangers,  I  feel  ray 
situation  somewhat  cheerless.  I  have  been  thinking  "  —  St. 
Amand  paused  again  —  "I  have  been  thinking  that  if  I  could 
persuade  some  agreeable  family  to  receive  me  as  a  lodger,  I 
would  fix  myself  here  for  some  weeks.     I  am  easily  pleased." 

"Doubtless  there  are  many  in  Malines  who  would  be  too 
happy  to  receive  such  a  lodger." 

"Will  you  receive  me?"  asked  St.  Amand,  abruptly.  "It 
was  of  your  family  I  thought." 

"Of  us?  Monsieur  is  too  flattering.  But  we  have  scarcely 
a  room  good  enough  for  you." 

"What  difference  between  one  room  and  another  can  there 
be  to  me?  That  is  the  best  apartment  to  my  choice  in  which 
the  human  voice  sounds  most  kindly." 

The  arrangement  was  made,  and  St.  Amand  came  now  to 
reside  beneath  the  same  roof  as  Lucille.  And  was  she  not 
happy  that  he  wanted  so  constant  an  attendance;  was  she  not 
happy  that  she  was  ever  of  use?     St.  Amand  was  passion- 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF   THE  RHINE.  35 

ately  fond  of  music;  he  played  himself  with  a  skill  that  was 
only  surpassed  by  the  exquisite  melody  of  his  voice;  and  was 
not  Lucille  happy  when  she  sat  mute  and  listening  to  such 
sounds  as  in  Malines  were  never  heard  before?  Was  she  not 
happy  in  gazing  on  a  face  to  whose  melancholy  aspect  her 
voice  instantly  summoned  the  smile?  Was  she  not  happy 
when  the  music  ceased,  and  St.  Amand  called  "  Lucille  "  ? 
Did  not  her  own  name  uttered  by  that  voice  seem  to  her  even 
sweeter  than  the  music?  Was  she  not  happy  when  they 
walked  out  in  the  still  evenings  of  summer,  and  her  arm 
thrilled  beneath  the  light  touch  of  one  to  whom  she  was  so 
necessary?  Was  she  not  proud  in  her  happiness,  and  was 
there  not  something  like  worship  in  the  gratitude  she  felt  to 
him  for  raising  her  humble  spirit  to  the  luxury  of  feeling 
herself  beloved? 

St.  Amand's  parents  were  French.  They  had  resided  in 
the  neighbourhood  of  Amiens,  where  they  had  inherited  a 
competent  property,  to  which  he  had  succeeded  about  two 
years  previous  to  the  date  of  my  story. 

He  had  been  blind  from  the  age  of  three  years.  "  I  know 
not,"  said  he,  as  he  related  these  particulars  to  Lucille  one 
evening  when  they  were  alone, —  "I  know  not  what  the  earth 
may  be  like,  or  the  heaven,  or  the  rivers  whose  voice  at  least 
I  can  hear,  for  I  have  no  recollection  beyond  that  of  a  con- 
fused but  delicious  blending  of  a  thousand  glorious  colours, — 
a  bright  and  quick  sense  of  joy,  a  visible  music.  But  it  is 
only  since  my  childhood  closed  that  I  have  mourned,  as  I  now 
unceasingly  mourn,  for  the  light  of  day.  My  boyhood  passed 
in  a  quiet  cheerfulness;  the  least  trifle  then  could  please  and 
occupy  the  vacancies  of  my  mind;  but  it  was  as  I  took  delight 
in  being  read  to,  as  I  listened  to  the  vivid  descriptions  of 
Poetry,  as  I  glowed  at  the  recital  of  great  deeds,  as  I  was 
made  acquainted  by  books  with  the  energy,  the  action,  the 
heat,  the  fervour,  the  pomp,  the  enthusiasm  of  life,  that  I 
gradually  opened  to  the  sense  of  all  I  was  forever  denied.  I 
felt  that  I  existed,  not  lived;  and  that,  in  the  midst  of  the  Uni- 
versal Liberty,  I  was  sentenced  to  a  prison,  from  whose  blank 
walls  there  was  no  escape.     Still,  however,  while  my  parents 


36  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

lived,  I  had  something  of  consoLation;  at  least  I  was  not 
alone.  They  died,  and  a  sudden  and  dread  solitude,  a  vast 
and  empty  dreariness,  settled  upon  my  dungeon.  One  old 
servant  only,  who  had  attended  me  from  my  childhood,  who 
had  known  me  in  my  short  privilege  of  light,  by  whose  recol- 
lections my  mind  could  grope  back  its  way  through  the  dark 
and  narrow  passages  of  memory  to  faint  glimpses  of  the  sun, 
was  all  that  remained  to  me  of  human  sympathies.  It  did 
not  suflB.ce,  however,  to  coatent  me  with  a  home  where  my 
father  and  my  mother's  kind  voice  were  not.  A  restless  im- 
patience, an  anxiety  to  move,  possessed  me,  and  I  set  out 
from  my  home,  journeying  whither  I  cared  not,  so  that  at 
least  I  could  change  an  air  that  weighed  upon  me  like  a  pal- 
pable burden.  I  took  only  this  old  attendant  as  my  com- 
panion; he  too  died  three  months  since  at  Bruxelles,  worn 
out  with  years.  Alas !  I  had  forgotten  that  he  was  old,  for 
I  saw  not  his  progress  to  decay,  and  now,  save  my  faith- 
less dog,  I  was  utterly  alone,  till  I  came  hither  and  found 
theey 

Lucille  stooped  down  to  caress  the  dog;  she  blessed  the 
desertion  that  had  led  him  to  a  friend  who  never  could 
desert. 

But  however  much,  and  however  gratefully,  St.  Amand 
loved  Lucille,  her  power  availed  not  to  chase  the  melancholy 
from  his  brow,  and  to  reconcile  him  to  his  forlorn  condition. 

"  Ah,  would  that  I  could  see  thee !  would  that  I  could  look 
upon  a  face  that  my  heart  vainly  endeavours  to  delineate!  " 

"If  thou  couldst,"  sighed  Lucille,  "thou  wouldst  cease  to 
love  me." 

"Impossible!"  cried  St.  Amand,  passionately.  "However 
the  world  may  find  thee,  thou  wouldst  become  my  standard  of 
beauty;  and  I  should  judge  not  of  thee  by  others,  but  of 
others  by  thee." 

He  loved  to  hear  Lucille  read  to  him,  and  mostly  he  loved 
the  descriptions  of  war,  of  travel,  of  wild  adventure,  and  yet 
they  occasioned  him  the  most  pain.  Often  she  paused  from 
the  page  as  she  heard  him  sigh,  and  felt  that  she  would  even 
have  renounced  the  bliss  of  being  loved  by  him,  if  she  could 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF   THE  RHINE.  37 

have  restored  to  him  that  blessing,  the  desire  for  which 
haunted  him  as  a  spectre. 

Lucille's  family  were  Catholic,  and,  like  most  in  their  sta- 
tion, they  possessed  the  superstitions,  as  well  as  the  devotion 
of  the  faith.  Sometimes  they  amused  themselves  of  an  even- 
ing by  the  various  legends  and  imaginary  miracles  of  their 
calendar;  and  once,  as  they  were  thus  conversing  with  two  or 
three  of  their  neighbours,  "  The  Tomb  of  the  Three  Kings  of 
Cologne  "  became  the  main  topic  of  their  wondering  recitals. 
However  strong  was  the  sense  of  Lucille,  she  was,  as  you  will 
readily  conceive,  naturally  influenced  by  the  belief  of  those 
with  whom  she  had  been  brought  up  from  her  cradle,  and  she 
listened  to  tale  after  tale  of  the  miracles  wrought  at  the  con- 
secrated tomb,  as  earnestly  and  undoubtingly  as  the  rest. 

And  the  Kings  of  the  East  were  no  ordinary  saints ;  to  the 
relics  of  the  Three  Magi,  who  followed  the  Star  of  Bethlehem, 
and  were  the  first  potentates  of  the  earth  who  adored  its 
Saviour,  well  might  the  pious  Catholic  suppose  that  a  pecu- 
liar power  and  a  healing  sanctity  would  belong.  Each  of  the 
circle  (St.  Amand,  who  had  been  more  than  usually  silent, 
and  even  gloomy  during  the  day,  had  retired  to  his  own  apart- 
ment, for  there  were  some  moments  when,  in  the  sadness  of 
his  thoughts,  he  sought  that  solitude  which  he  so  impatiently 
fled  from  at  others)  —  each  of  the  circle  had  some  story  to  re- 
late equally  veracious  and  indisputable,  of  an  infirmity  cured, 
or  a  prayer  accorded,  or  a  sin  atoned  for  at  the  foot  of  the 
holy  tomb.  One  story  peculiarly  affected  Lucille ;  the  narra- 
tor, a  venerable  old  man  with  gray  locks,  solemnly  declared 
himself  a  witness  of  its  truth. 

A  woman  at  Anvers  had  given  birth  to  a  son,  the  offspring 
of  an  illicit  connection,  who  came  into  the  world  deaf  and 
dumb.  The  unfortunate  mother  believed  the  calamity  a  pun- 
ishment for  her  own  sin.  "Ah,  would,"  said  she,  "that  the 
affliction  had  fallen  only  upon  me!  Wretch  that  I  am,  my 
innocent  child  is  punished  for  my  offence!"  This  idea 
haunted  her  night  and  day;  she  pined  and  could  not  be  com- 
forted. As  the  child  grew  up,  and  wound  himself  more  and 
more  round  her  heart,  his  caresses  added  new  pangs  to  her 


38  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

remorse ;  and  at  length  (continued  the  narrator)  hearing  per- 
petually of  the  holy  fame  of  the  Tomb  of  Cologne,  she  re- 
solved upon  a  pilgrimage  barefoot  to  the  shrine.  "God  is 
merciful,"  said  she;  "and  He  who  called  Magdalene  his  sister 
may  take  the  mother's  curse  from  the  child."  She  then  went 
to  Cologne;  she  poured  her  tears,  her  penitence,  and  her 
prayers  at  the  sacred  tomb.  When  she  returned  to  her  native 
town,  what  was  her  dismay  as  she  approached  her  cottage  to 
behold  it  a  heap  of  ruins!  Its  blackened  rafters  and  yawning 
casements  betokened  the  ravages  of  fire.  The  poor  woman 
sank  upon  the  ground  utterly  overpowered.  Had  her  son  per- 
ished? At  that  moment  she  heard  the  cry  of  a  child's  voice, 
and,  lo!  her  child  rushed  to  her  arms,  and  called  her 
"  mother !  " 

He  had  been  saved  from  the  fire,  which  had  broken  out 
seven  days  before;  but  in  the  terror  he  had  suffered,  the 
string  that  tied  his  tongue  had  been  loosened ;  he  had  uttered 
articulate  sounds  of  distress ;  the  curse  was  removed,  and  one 
word  at  least  the  kind  neighbours  had  already  taught  him  to 
welcome  his  mother's  return.  What  cared  she  now  that  her 
substance  was  gone,  that  her  roof  was  ashes?  She  bowed  in 
grateful  submission  to  so  mild  a  stroke;  'her  prayer  had  been 
heard,  and  the  sin  of  the  mother  was  visited  no  longer  on  the 
child. 

I  have  said,  dear  Gertrude,  that  this  story  made  a  deep  im- 
pression upon  Lucille.  A  misfortune  so  nearly  akin  to  that 
of  St.  Amand  removed  by  the  prayer  of  another  filled  her 
with  devoted  thoughts  and  a  beautiful  hope.  "Is  not  the 
tomb  still  standing?"  thought  she.  "Is  not  God  still  in 
heaven?  — He  who  heard  the  guilty,  may  He  not  hear  the 
guiltless?  Is  He  not  the  God  of  love?  Are  not  the  affections 
the  offerings  that  please  Him  best?  And  what  though  the 
child's  mediator  was  his  mother,  can  even  a  mother  love  her 
child  more  tenderly  than  I  love  Eugene?  But  if,  Lucille,  thy 
prayer  be  granted,  if  he  recover  his  sight,  tliy  charm  is  gone, 
he  will  love  thee  no  longer.  No  matter!  be  it  so, —  I  shall  at 
least  have  made  him  happy !  " 

Such  were  the  thoughts  that  filled  the  mind  of  Lucille;  she 


THE  PILGRIMS   OF   THE  RHINE.  39 

cherished  them  till  they  settled  into  resolution,  and  she  se- 
cretly vowed  to  perform  her  pilgrimage  of  love.  She  told 
neither  St.  Amand  nor  her  parents  of  her  intention;  she  knew 
the  obstacles  such  an  announcement  would  create.  Fortu- 
nately she  had  an  aunt  settled  at  Bruxelles,  to  whom  she  had 
been  accustomed  once  in  every  year  to  pay  a  month's  visit, 
and  at  that  time  she  generally  took  with  her  the  work  of  a 
twelvemonths'  industry,  which  found  a  readier  sale  at  Brux- 
elles than  at  Malines.  Lucille  and  St.  Amand  were  already 
betrothed ;  their  wedding  was  shortly  to  take  place ;  and  the 
custom  of  the  country  leading  parents,  however  poor,  to  nour- 
ish the  honourable  ambition  of  giving  some  dowry  with  their 
daughters,  Lucille  found  it  easy  to  hide  the  object  of  her 
departure,  under  the  pretence  of  taking  the  lace  to  Bruxelles, 
which  had  been  the  year's  labour  of  her  mother  and  herself, — 
it  would  sell  for  sufficient,  at  least,  to  defray  the  preparations 
for  the  wedding. 

"Thou art  ever  right,  child,"  said  Madame  le  Tisseur;  "the 
richer  St.  Amand  is,  why,  the  less  oughtest  thou  to  go  a  beg- 
gar to  his  house." 

In  fact,  the  honest  ambition  of  the  good  people  was  ex- 
cited; their  pride  had  been  hurt  by  the  envy  of  the  town  and 
the  current  congratulations  on  so  advantageous  a  marriage; 
and  they  employed  themselves  in  counting  up  the  fortune 
they  should  be  able  to  give  to  their  only  child,  and  flattering 
their  pardonable  vanity  with  the  notion  that  there  would  be 
no  such  great  disproportion  in  the  connection  after  all.  They 
were  right,  but  not  in  their  own  view  of  the  estimate;  the 
wealth  that  Lucille  brought  was  what  fate  could  not  lessen, 
reverse  could  not  reach;  the  ungracious  seasons  could  not 
blight  its  sweet  harvest;  imprudence  could  not  dissipate, 
fraud  could  not  steal,  one  grain  from  its  abundant  coffers! 
Like  the  purse  in  the  Fairy  Tale,  its  use  was  hourly,  its 
treasure  inexhaustible. 

St.  Amand  alone  was  not  to  be  won  to  her  departure;  he 
chafed  at  the  notion  of  a  dowry;  he  was  not  appeased  even 
by  Lucille's  representation  that  it  was  only  to  gratify  and 
not  to  impoverish  her  parents.     "And  tho^^,  too,  canst  leave 


40  THE  PILGRBIS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

me !  "  he  said,   in  that  plaintive  voice  which  had  made  his 
first  charm  to  Lucille's  heart.     "It  is  a  double  blindness!  " 

"But  for  a  few  days;  a  fortnight  at  most,  dearest  Eugene." 

"A  fortnight!  you  do  not  reckon  time  as  the  blind  do," 
said  St.  Amand,  bitterly. 

"But  listen,  listen,  dear  Eugene,"  said  Lucille,  weeping. 

The  sound  of  her  sobs  restored  him  to  a  sense  of  his  ingrati- 
tude. Alas,  he  knew  not  how  much  he  had  to  be  grateful 
for!  He  held  out  his  arms  to  her.  "Forgive  me,"  said  he. 
"  Those  who  can  see  Nature  know  not  how  terrible  it  is  to  be 
alone." 

"But  my  mother  will  not  leave  you." 

"  She  is  not  you !  " 

"And  Julie,"  said  Lucille,*  hesitatingly. 

"What  is  Julie  to  me?" 

"Ah,  you  are  the  only  one,  save  my  parents,  who  could 
think  of  me  in  her  presence." 

"And  why,  Lucille?  " 

"  Why!     She  is  more  beautiful  than  a  dream." 

"  Say  not  so.  Would  I  could  see,  that  I  might  prove  to  the 
world  how  much  more  beautiful  thou  art!  There  is  no  music 
in  her  voice." 

The  evening  before  Lucille  departed  she  sat  up  late  with 
St.  Amand  and  her  mother.  They  conversed  on  the  future; 
they  made  plans ;  in  the  wide  sterility  of  the  world  they  laid 
out  the  garden  of  household  love,  and  filled  it  with  flowers, 
forgetful  of  the  wind  that  scatters  and  the  frost  that  kills. 
And  when,  leaning  on  Lucille's  arm,  St.  Amand  sought  his 
chamber,  and  they  parted  at  his  door,  which  closed  upon  her, 
she  fell  down  on  her  knees  at  the  threshold,  and  poured  out 
the  fulness  of  her  heart  in  a  prayer  for  his  safety  and  the  ful- 
filment of  her  timid  hope. 

At  daybreak  she  was  consigned  to  the  conveyance  that  per- 
formed the  short  journey  from  Malines  to  Bruxelles.  When 
she  entered  the  town,  instead  of  seeking  her  aunt,  she  rested 
at  an  auberge  in  the  suburbs,  and  confiding  her  little  basket 
of  lace  to  the  care  of  its  hostess,  she  set  out  alone,  and  on 
foot,  upon  the  errand  of  her  heart's  lovely  superstition.     And 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF   THE  RHINE.  41 

erring  though  it  was,  her  faith  redeemed  its  weakness,  her 
affection  made  it  even  sacred;  and  well  may  we  believe  that 
the  Eye  which  reads  all  secrets  scarce  looked  reprovingly  on 
that  fanaticism  Avhose  only  infirmity  was  love. 

So  fearful  was  she  lest,  by  rendering  the  task  too  easy,  she 
might  impair  the  effect,  that  she  scarcely  allowed  herself  rest 
or  food.     Sometimes,   in  the  heat  of  noon,  she  wandered  a 
little  from  the  roadside,  and  under  the  spreading  lime-trees 
surrendered  her  mind  to  its  sweet  and  bitter  thoughts;   but 
ever  the  restlessness  of  her  enterprise  urged  her  on,  and  faint, 
weary,  and  with  bleeding  feet,  she  started  up  and  continued 
her  way.     At  length  she  reached  the  ancient  city,  where  a 
holier  age  has  scarce  worn  from  the  habits  and  aspects  of 
men  the  Eoman  trace.     She  prostrated  herself  at  the  tomb  of 
the  Magi ;  she  proffered  her  ardent  but  humble  prayer  to  Him 
before  whose  Son  those  fleshless  heads  (yet  to  faith  at  least 
preserved)  had,  eighteen  centuries  ago,  bowed  in  adoration. 
Twice  every  day,   for  a  whole  week,   she  sought  the  same 
spot,  and  poured  forth  the  same  prayer.     The  last  day  an  old 
priest,  who,  hovering  in  the  church,  had  observed  her  con- 
stantly at   devotion,   with  that   fatherly  interest  which  the 
better  ministers  of  the  Catholic  sect  (that  sect  which  has  cov- 
ered the  earth  with  the  mansions  of  charity)  feel  for  the  un- 
happy, approached  her  as  she  was  retiring  with  moist  and 
downcast  eyes,  and  saluting  her,  assumed  the  privilege  of  his 
order  to  inquire  if  there  was  aught  in  which  his  advice  or  aid 
could  serve.     There  was  something  in  the  venerable  air  of  the 
old  man  which  encouraged  Lucille;  she  opened  her  heart  to 
him;  she  told  him  all.     The  good  priest  was  much  moved  by 
her  simplicity  and  earnestness.     He  questioned  her  minutely 
as  to  the  peculiar  species  of  blindness  with  which  St.  Amand 
was   afflicted;    and    after    musing    a   little    while,    he    said, 
"  Daughter,  God  is  great  and  merciful ;  we  must  trust  in  His 
power,  but  we  must  not  forget  that  He  mostly  works  by  mor- 
tal agents.     As  you  pass  through  Louvain  in  your  way  home, 
fail  not  to  see  there  a  certain  physician,  named  Le  Kain.     He 
is  celebrated  through  Flanders  for  the  cures  he  has  wrought 
among  the  blind,  and  his  advice  is  sought  by  all  classes  from 


42  THE  PILGRIMS   OF   THE   RHINE. 

far  and  near.  He  lives  hard  by  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  but  any 
one  will  inform  you  of  his  residence.  Stay,  my  child,  you 
shall  take  him  a  note  from  me ;  he  is  a  benevolent  and  kindly 
man,  and  you  shall  tell  him  exactly  the  same  story  (and  with 
the  same  voice)  you  have  told  to  me." 

So  saying  the  priest  made  Lucille  accompany  him  to  his 
home,  and  forciiig  her  to  refresh  herself  less  sparingly  than 
she  had  yet  done  since  she  had  left  Malines,  he  gave  her  his 
blessing,  and  a  letter  to  Le  Kain,  which  he  rightly  judged 
would  insure  her  a  patient  hearing  from  the  physician.  Well 
known  among  all  men  of  science  was  the  name  of  the  priest, 
and  a  word  of  recommendation  from  him  went  further,  where 
virtue  and  wisdom  were  honoured,  than  the  longest  letter 
from  the  haughtiest  sieur  in  Flanders. 

With  a  patient  and  hopeful  spirit,  the  young  pilgrim 
turned  her  back  on  the  Eoman  Cologne;  and  now  about  to 
rejoin  St.  Amand,  she  felt  neither  the  heat  of  the  sun  nor  the 
weariness  of  the  road.  It  was  one  day  at  noon  that  she  again 
passed  through  Louvain,  and  she  soon  found  herself  by  the 
noble  edifice  of  the  Hotel  de  Ville.  Proud  rose  its  spires 
against  the  sky,  and  the  sun  shone  bright  on  its  rich  tracery 
and  Gothic  casements;  the  broad  open  street  was  crowded 
with  persons  of  all  classes,  and  it  was  with  some  modest 
alarm  that  Lucille  lowered  her  veil  and  mingled  with  the 
throng.  It  was  easy,  as  the  priest  had  said,  to  find  the  house 
of  Le  Kain;  she  bade  the  servant  take  the  priest's  letter  to 
his  master,  and  she  was  not  long  kept  Waiting  before  she  was 
admitted  to  the  physician's  presence.  He  was  a  spare,  tall 
man,  with  a  bald  front,  and  a  calm  and  friendly  countenance. 
He  was  not  less  touched  than  the  priest  had  been  by  the  man- 
ner in  which  she  narrated  her  story,  described  the  affliction 
of  her  betrothed,  and  the  hope  that  had  inspired  the  pilgrim- 
age she  had  just  made. 

"Well,"  said  he,  encouragingly,  "we  must  see  our  patient. 
You  can  bring  him  hither  to  me." 

"  Ah,  sir,  I  had  hoped  —  "     Lucille  stopped  suddenly. 

"What,  my  young  friend?  " 

"That  I  might  have  had  the  triumph  of  bringing  you  to 


THE   PILGRIMS   OF   THE   RIIIXE.  43 

Malines.  I  know,  sir,  what  you  are  about  to  say,  and  I  know, 
sir,  your  time  must  be  very  valuable;  but  I  am  not  so  poor 
as  I  seem,  and  Eugene,  that  is,  M.  St.  Amand,  is  very  rich, 
and  —  and  I  have  at  Bruxelles  what  I  am  sure  is  a  large 
sum;  it  was  to  have  provided  for  the  wedding,  but  it  is  most 
heartily  at  your  service,  sir." 

Le  Kain  smiled ;  he  was  one  of  those  men  who  love  to  read 
the  human  heart  when  its  leaves  are  fair  and  uudefiled;  and, 
in  the  benevolence  of  science,  he  would  have  gone  a  longer 
journey  than  from  Louvain  to  Malines  to  give  sight  to  the 
blind,  even  had  St.  Amand  been  a  beggar. 

"Well,  well,"  said  he,  "but  you  forget  that  M.  St.  Amand 
is  not  the  only  one  in  the  world  who  wants  me.  I  must  look 
at  my  notebook,  and  see  if  I  can  be  spared  for  a  day  or 
two." 

So  saying,  he  glanced  at  his  memoranda.  Everything 
smiled  on  Lucille;  he  had  no  engagements  that  his  partner 
could  not  fulfil,  for  some  days;  he  consented  to  accompany 
Lucille  to  Malines. 

Meamvhile,  cheerless  and  dull  had  passed  the  time  to  St. 
Amand.  He  was  perpetually  asking  Madame  le  Tisseur  what 
hour  it  was, —  it  was  almost  his  only  question.  There  seemed 
to  him  no  sun  in  the  heavens,  no  freshness  in  the  air,  and  he 
even  forbore  his  favourite  music;  the  instrument  had  lost  its 
sweetness  since  Lucille  was  not  by  to  listen. 

It  was  natural  that  the  gossips  of  Malines  should  feel  some 
envy  at  the  marriage  Lucille  was  about  to  make  with  one 
whose  competence  report  had  exaggerated  into  prodigal  wealth, 
whose  birth  had  been  elevated  from  the  respectable  to  the 
noble,  and  whose  handsome  person  was  clothed,  by  the  in- 
terest excited  by  his  misfortune,  with  the  beauty  of  Antinous. 
Even  that  misfortune,  which  ought  to  have  levelled  all  dis- 
tinctions, was  not  sufficient  to  check  the  general  envj^;  per- 
haps to  some  of  the  damsels  of  Malines  blindness  in  a  husband 
would  not  have  seemed  an  unwelcome  infirmity!  But  there 
was  one  in  whom  this  envy  rankled  with  a  peculiar  sting :  it 
was  the  beautiful,  the  all-conquering  Julie !  That  the  humble, 
the  neglected  Lucille  should  be  preferred  to  her;  that  Lucille, 


44  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

whose  existence  was  well-nigh  forgot  beside  Julie's,  should 
become  thus  suddenly  of  importance ;  that  there  should  be  one 
person  in  the  world,  and  that  person  young,  rich,  handsome, 
to  whom  she  was  less  than  nothing,  when  weighed  in  the 
balance  with  Lucille,  mortified  to  the  quick  a  vanity  that  had 
never  till  then  received  a  wound.  "It  is  well,"  she  would 
say  with  a  bitter  jest,  "that  Lucille's  lover  is  blind.  To  be 
the  one  it  is  necessary  to  be  the  other !  " 

During  Lucille's  absence  she  had  been  constantly  in  Madame 
le  Tisseur's  house;  indeed,  Lucille  had  prayed  her  to  be  so. 
She  had  sought,  with  an  industry  that  astonished  herself,  to 
supply  Lucille's  place;  and  among  the  strange  contradictions 
of  human  nature,  she  had  learned  during  her  efforts  to  please, 
to  love  the  object  of  those  efforts, —  as  much  at  least  as  she 
was  capable  of  loving. 

She  conceived  a  positive  hatred  to  Lucille ;  she  persisted  in 
imagining  that  nothing  but  the  accident  of  first  acquaintance 
had  deprived  her  of  a  conquest  with  which  she  persuaded  her- 
self her  happiness  had  become  connected.  Had  St.  Am  and 
never  loved  Lucille  and  proposed  to  Julie,  his  misfortune 
would  have  made  her  reject  him,  despite  his  wealth  and  his 
youth;  but  to  be  Lucille's  lover,  and  a  conquest  to  be  won 
from  Lucille,  raised  him  instantly  to  an  importance  not  his 
own.  Safe,  however,  in  his  af&iction,  the  arts  and  beauty  of 
Julie  fell  harmless  on  the  fidelity  of  St.  Amand.  Nay,  he 
liked  her  less  than  ever,  for  it  seemed  an  impertinence  in  any 
one  to  counterfeit  the  anxiety  and  watchfulness  of  Lucille. 

"  It  is  time,  surely  it  is  time,  Madame  le  Tisseur,  that  Lu- 
cille should  return?  She  might  have  sold  all  the  lace  in 
Malines  by  this  time,"  said  St.  Amand,  one  day,  peevishly. 

"Patience,  my  dear  friend,  patience;  perhaps  she  may 
return  to-morrow." 

"To-morrow!  let  me  see,  it  is  only  six  o'clock, —  only  six, 
you  are  sure?  " 

"Just  five,  dear  Eugene.  Shall  I  read  to  you?  This  is  a 
new  book  from  Paris;  it  has  made  a  great  noise,"  said  Julie. 

"You  are  very  kind,  but  I  will  not  trouble  you." 

"It  is  anything  but  trouble." 


THE   PILGRIMS   OF   THE   RIIIXE.  45 

"In  a  word,  then,  I  would  rather  not." 

"Oh,  that  he  could  see!"  thought  Julie;  "would  I  not 
punish  him  for  this !  " 

"I  hear  carriage  wheels;  who  can  be  passing  this  way? 
Surely  it  is  the  volturier  from  Bruxelles,"  said  St.  Amand, 
starting  up;  "it  is  his  day, —  his  hour,  too.  No,  no,  it  is  a 
lighter  vehicle,"  and  he  sank  down  listlessly  on  his  seat. 

Nearer  and  nearer  rolled  the  wheels;  they  turned  the  cor- 
ner; they  stopped  at  the  lowly  door;  and,  overcome,  over- 
joyed, Lucille  was  clasped  to  the  bosom  of  St.  Amand. 

"Stay,"  said  she,  blushing,  as  she  recovered  her  self-pos- 
session, and  turned  to  Le  Kain;  "pray  pardon  me,  sir.  Dear 
Eugene,  I  have  brought  with  me  one  who,  by  God's  blessing, 
may  yet  restore  you  to  sight." 

"We  must  not  be  sanguine,  my  child,"  said  Le  Kain;  "any- 
thing is  better  than  disappointment." 

To  close  this  part  of  my  story,  dear  Gertrude,  Le  Kain  ex- 
amined St.  Amand,  and  the  result  of  the  examination  was  a 
confident  belief  in  the  probability  of  a  cure.  St.  Amand 
gladly  consented  to  the  experiment  of  an  operation;  it  suc- 
ceeded, the  blind  man  saw!  Oh,  what  were  Lucille's  feel- 
ings, what  her  emotion,  what  her  joy,  when  she  found  the 
object  of  her  pilgrimage,  of  her  prayers,  fulfilled!  That  joy 
was  so  intense  that  in  the  eternal  alternations  of  human  life 
she  might  have  foretold  from  its  excess  how  bitter  the  sorrows 
fated  to  ensue. 

As  soon  as  by  degrees  "the  patient's  new  sense  became  rec- 
onciled to  the  light,  his  first,  his  only  demand  was  for  Lucille. 
"  No,  let  me  not  see  her  alone ;  let  me  see  her  in  the  midst  of 
you  all,  that  I  may  convince  you  that  the  heart  never  is  mis- 
taken in  its  instincts."  "With  a  fearful,  a  sinking  presenti- 
ment, Lucille  yielded  to  the  request,  to  which  the  impetuous 
St.  Amand  would  hear  indeed  no  denial.  The  father,  the 
mother,  Julie,  Lucille,  Julie's  younger  sisters,  assembled  in 
the  little  parlour;  the  door  opened,  and  St.  Amand  stood 
hesitating  on  the  threshold.  One  look  around  sufficed  to 
him;  his  face  brightened,  he  uttered  a  cry  of  joy.     "Lucille! 


46  THE   PILGRIMS   OF   THE   RHINE. 

Lucille!"   he  exclaimed,   "it  is  you,  I  know  it,  you  only  I" 
He  sprang  forward  and  fell  at  the  feet  of  Julie  I 

Flushed,  elated,  triumphant,  Julie  bent  upon  him  her 
sparkling  eyes;  she  did  not  undeceive  him. 

"  You  are  wrong,  you  mistake, "  said  Madame  le  Tisseur,  in 
confusion;  "that  is  her  cousin  Julie, —  this  is  your  Lucille." 

St.  Amand  rose,  turned,  saw  Lucille,  and  at  that  moment 
she  wished  herself  in  her  grave.  Surprise,  mortification,  dis- 
appointment, almost  dismay,  were  depicted  in  his  gaze.  He 
had  been  haunting  his  prison-house  with  dreams,  and  now, 
set  free,  he  felt  how  unlike  the}^  were  to  the  truth.  Too  new 
to  observation  to  read  the  woe,  the  despair,  the  lapse  and 
shrinking  of  the  whole  frame,  that  his  look  occasioned  Lu- 
cille, he  yet  felt,  when  the  first  shock  of  his  surprise  was 
over,  that  it  was  not  thus  he  should  thank  her  who  had  re- 
stored him  to  sight.  He  hastened  to  redeem  his  error  —  ah ! 
how  could  it  be  redeemed? 

From  that  hour  all  Lucille's  happiness  was  at  an  end;  her 
fairy  palace  was  shattered  in  the  dust;  the  magician's  wand 
was  broken  up;  the  Ariel  was  given  to  the  winds;  and  the 
bright  enchantment  no  longer  distinguished  the  land  she  lived 
in  from  the  rest  of  the  barren  world.  It  is  true  that  St. 
Amand's  words  were  kind;  it  is  true  that  he  remembered 
with  the  deepest  gratitude  all  she  had  done  in  his  behalf;  it 
is  true  that  he  forced  himself  again  and  again  to  say,  "  She  is 
my  betrothed,  my  benefactress!"  and  he  cursed  himself  to 
think  that  the  feelings  he  had  entertained  for  her  were  fled. 
"Where  was  the  passion  of  his  words ;  where  the  ardour  of  his 
tone;  where  that  play  and  light  of  countenance  which  her 
step,  her  voice,  could  formerly  call  forth?  When  they  were 
alone  he  was  embarrassed  and  constrained,  and  almost  cold; 
his  hand  no  longer  sought  hers,  his  soul  no  longer  missed  her 
if  she  was  absent  a  moment  from  his  side.  When  in  their 
household  circle  he  seemed  visibly  more  at  ease;  but  did  liis 
eyes  fasten  upon  her  who  had  opened  them  to  the  day;  did 
they  not  wander  at  every  interval  with  a  too  eloquent  admira- 
tion to  the  blushing  and  radiant  face  of  the  exulting  Julie? 
This  was  not,  you  will  believe,  suddenly  perceptible  in  one 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  47 

day  or  one  week,  but  every  day  it  was  perceptible  more  and 
more.  Yet  still  —  bewitched,  ensnared,  as  St.  Amand  was  — 
he  never  perhaps  would  have  been  guilty  of  an  infidelity  that 
he  strove  with  the  keenest  remorse  to  wrestle  against,  had  it 
not  been  for  the  fatal  contrast,  at  the  first  moment  of  his 
gushing  enthusiasm,  which  Julie  had  presented  to  Lucille; 
but  for  that  he  would  have  formed  no  previous  idea  of  real 
and  living  beauty  to  aid  the  disappointment  of  his  imaginings 
and  his  dreams.  He  would  have  seen  Lucille  young  and 
graceful,  and  with  eyes  beaming  affection,  contrasted  only  by 
the  wrinkled  countenance  and  bended  frame  of  her  parents, 
and  she  would  have  completed  her  conquest  over  him  before 
he  had  discovered  that  she  was  less  beautiful  than  others; 
nay,  more, —  that  infidelity  never  could  have  lasted  above  the 
first  few  days,  if  the  vain  and  heartless  object  of  it  had  not 
exerted  every  art,  all  the  power  and  witchery  of  her  beauty, 
to  cement  and  continue  it.  The  unfortunate  Lucille  —  so  sus- 
ceptible to  the  slightest  change  in  those  she  loved,  so  diffident 
of  herself,  so  proud  too  in  that  diffidence  —  no  longer  neces- 
sary, no  longer  missed,  no  longer  loved,  could  not  bear  to 
endure  the  galling  comparison  between  the  past  and  the 
present.  She  fled  uncomplainingly  to  her  chamber  to  indulge 
her  tears,  and  thus,  unhappily,  absent  as  her  father  generally 
was  during  the  day,  and  busied  as  her  mother  was  either  at 
work  or  in  household  matters,  she  left  Julie  a  thousand  op- 
portunities to  complete  the  power  she  had  begun  to  wield  over 
—  no,  not  the  heart !  —  the  senses  of  St.  Amand !  Yet,  still 
not  suspecting,  in  the  open  generosity  of  her  mind,  the  whole 
extent  of  her  affliction,  poor  Lucille  buoyed  herself  at  times 
with  the  hope  that  when  once  married,  when,  once  in  that 
intimacy  of  friendship,  the  unspeakable  love  she  felt  for  him 
could  disclose  itself  with  less  restraint  than  at  present, —  she 
would  perhaps  regain  a  heart  which  had  been  so  devotedly 
hers,  that  she  could  not  think  that  without  a  fault  it  was 
irrevocably  gone :  on  that  hope  she  anchored  all  the  little  hap- 
piness that  remained  to  her.  And  still  St.  Amand  pressed 
their  marriage,  but  in  what  different  tones !  In  fact,  he  wished 
to  preclude  from  himself  the  possibility  of  a  deeper  ingratitude 


48  THE  PILGRIMS   OF   THE   RHINE. 

than  tliat  which,  he  had  incurred  already.  He  vainly  thought 
that  the  broken  reed  of  love  might  be  bound  up  and  strength- 
ened by  the  ties  of  duty;  and  at  least  he  was  anxious  that  his 
hand,  his  fortune,  his  esteem,  his  gratitude,  should  give  to 
Lucille  the  only  recompense  it  was  now  in  his  power  to  be- 
stow. Meanwhile,  left  alone  so  often  with  Julie,  and  Julie 
bent  on  achieving  the  last  triumph  over  his  heart,  St.  Amand 
was  gradually  preparing  a  far  different  reward,  a  far  different 
return,  for  her  to  whom  he  owed  so  incalculable  a  debt. 

There  was  a  garden,  behind  the  house,  in  which  there  was 
a  small  arbour,  where  often  in  the  summer  evenings  Eugene 
and  Lucille  had  sat  together, —  hours  never  to  return!  One 
day  she  heard  from  her  own  chamber,  where  she  sat  mourn- 
ing, the  sound  of  St.  Amand's  flute  swelling  gently  from  that 
beloved  and  consecrated  bower.  She  wept  as  she  heard  it, 
and  the  memories  that  the  music  bore  softening  and  endear- 
ing his  image,  she  began  to  reproach  herself  that  she  had 
yielded  so  often  to  the  impulse  of  her  wounded  feelings ;  that 
chilled  by  his  coldness,  she  had  left  him  so  often  to  himself, 
and  had  not  sufficientl}^  dared  to  tell  him  of  that  affection 
which,  in  her  modest  self-depreciation,  constituted  her  only 
pretension  to  his  love.  "Perhaps  he  is  alone  now,"  she 
thought ;  "  the  air  too  is  one  which  he  knows  that  I  love :  " 
and  with  her  heart  in  her  step,  she  stole  from  the  house  and 
sought  the  arbour.  She  had  scarce  turned  from  her  chamber 
when  the  flute  ceased;  as  she  neared  the  arbour  she  heard 
voices, —  Julie's  voice  in  grief,  St.  Amand's  in  consolation. 
A  dread  foreboding  seized  her;  her  feet  clung  rooted  to  the 
earth. 

"Yes,  marry  her,  forget  me,"  said  Julie;  "in  a  few  days 
you  will  be  another's,  and  I  —  I  —  forgive  me,  Eugene,  for- 
give me  that  I  have  disturbed  your  happiness.  I  am  punished 
sufficiently;  my  heart  will  break,  but  it  will  break  in  loving 
you."     Sobs  choked  Julie's  voice. 

"Oh,  speak  not  thus,"  said  St.  Amand.  "I,  /  only  am  to 
blame, —  I,  false  to  both,  to  both  ungrateful.  Oh,  from  the 
hour  that  these  eyes  opened  upon  you  I  drank  in  a  new  life; 
the  sun  itself  to  me  was  less  wonderful  than  your  beauty. 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  49 

But  —  but  —  let  me  forget  that  hour.  What  do  I  not  owe  to 
Lucille?  I  shall  be  wretched, —  I  shall  deserve  to  be  so;  for 
shall  I  not  think,  Julie,  that  I  have  embittered  your  life  with 
our  ill-fated  love?  But  all  that  I  can  give  —  my  hand,  my 
home,  my  plighted  faith  —  must  be  hers.  Nay,  Julie,  nay  — 
why  that  look?  Could  I  act  otherwise?  Can  I  dream  other- 
wise? Whatever  the  sacrifice,  must  I  not  render  it?  Ah, 
what  do  I  owe  to  Lucille,  were  it  only  for  the  thought  that 
but  for  her  I  might  never  have  seen  thee !  " 

Lucille  stayed  to  hear  no  more;  with  the  same  soft  step  as 
that  which  had  borne  her  within  hearing  of  these  fatal  words, 
she  turned  back  once  more  to  her  desolate  chamber. 

That  evening,  as  St.  Amand  was  sitting  alone  in  his  apart- 
ment, he  heard  a  gentle  knock  at  the  door.  "Come  in,"  he 
said,  and  Lucille  entered.  He  started  in  some  confusion,  and 
would  have  taken  her  hand,  but  she  gently  repulsed  him. 
She  took  a  seat  opposite  to  him,  and  looking  down,  thus  ad- 
dressed him : — 

"My  dear  Eugene,  that  is,  Monsieur  St.  Amand,  I  have 
something  on  my  mind  that  1  think  it  better  to  speak  at 
once;  and  if  I  do  not  exactly  express  what  I  would  wish  to 
say,  you  must  not  be  offended  with  Lucille :  it  is  not  an  easy 
matter  to  put  into  words  what  one  feels  deeply."  Colouring, 
and  suspecting  something  of  the  truth,  St.  Amand  would  have 
broken  in  upon  her  here;  but  she  with  a  gentle  impatience 
motioned  him  to  be  silent,  and  continued: — 

"You  know  that  when  you  once  loved  me,  I  used  to  tell 
you  that  you  would  cease  to  do  so  could  you  see  how  unde- 
serving I  was  of  your  attachment.  I  did  not  deceive  myself, 
Eugene ;  I  always  felt  assured  that  such  would  be  the  case, 
that  your  love  for  me  necessarily  rested  on  your  affliction. 
But  for  all  that  I  never  at  least  had  a  dream  or  a  desire  but 
for  your  happiness;  and  God  knows,  that  if  again,  by  walk- 
ing barefooted,  not  to  Cologne,  but  to  Eome  —  to  the  end  of 
the  world  —  I  could  save  you  from  a  much  less  misfortune 
than  that  of  blindness,  I  would  cheerfully  do  it;  yes,  even 
though  I  might  foretell  all  the  while  that,  on  my  return,  you 
would  speak  to  me  coldly,  think  of  me  lightly,  and  that  the 

4 


60  THE  PILGRLVIS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

penalty  to  me  would  —  would  be  —  what  it  has  been!  "  Here 
Lucille  wiped  a  few  natural  tears  from  her  eyes.  St.  Amand, 
struck  to  the  heart,  covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  without 
the  courage  to  interrupt  her.     Lucille  continued :  — 

"  That  which  I  foresaw  has  come  to  pass ;  I  am  no  longer  to 
you  what  I  once  was,  when  you  could  clothe  this  poor  form 
and  this  homely  face  with  a  beauty  they  did  not  possess.  You 
would  wed  me  still,  it  is  true ;  but  I  am  proud,  Eugene,  and 
cannot  stoop  to  gratitude  where  I  once  had  love.  I  am  not  so 
unjust  as  to  blame  you;  the  change  was  natural,  was  inevita- 
ble. I  should  have  steeled  myself  more  against  it;  but  I  am 
now  resigned.  We  must  part;  you  love  Julie  —  that  too  is 
natural  —  and  she  loves  you;  ah!  what  also  more  in  the  prob- 
able course  of  events?  Julie  loves  you,  not  yet,  perhaps,  so 
much  as  I  did;  but  then  she  has  not  known  you  as  I  have, 
and  she  whose  whole  life  has  been  triumph  cannot  feel  the 
gratitude  that  I  felt  at  fancying  myself  loved;  but  this  will 
come  — God  grant  it!  Farewell,  then,  forever,  dear  Eugene; 
I  leave  you  when  you  no  longer  want  me ;  you  are  now  inde- 
pendent of  Lucille ;  wherever  you  go,  a  thousand  hereafter  can 
supply  my  place.     Farewell !  " 

She  rose,  as  she  said  this,  to  leave  the  room ;  but  St.  Amand 
seizing  her  hand,  which  she  in  vain  endeavoured  to  withdraw 
from  his  clasp,  poured  forth  incoherently,  passionately,  his 
reproaches  on  himself,  his  eloquent  persuasion  against  her 
resolution. 

"I  confess,"  said  he,  "that  I  have  been  allured  for  a  mo- 
ment; I  confess  that  Julie's  beauty  made  me  less  sensible  to 
your  stronger,  your  holier,  oh!  far,  far  holier  title  to  my  love! 
But  forgive  me,  dearest  Lucille;  already  I  return  to  you,  to 
all  I  once  felt  for  you;  make  me  not  curse  the  blessing  of 
sight  that  I  owe  to  you.  You  must  not  leave  me ;  never  can  we 
two  part.  Try  me,  only  try  me,  and  if  ever  hereafter  my  heart 
wander  from  you,  then,  Lucille,  leave  me  to  my  remorse !  " 

Even  at  that  moment  Lucille  did  not  yield;  she  felt  that 
his  prayer  was  but  the  enthusiasm  of  the  hour;  she  felt  that 
there  was  a  virtue  in  her  pride, —  that  to  leave  him  was  a 
duty  to  herself.     In  vain  he  pleaded;  in  vain  were  his  em- 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  51 

braces,  his  prayers;  in  vain  he  reminded  her  of  their  plighted 
troth,  of  her  aged  parents,  whose  happiness  had  beconie 
wrapped  in  her  union  with  him:  "How, —  even  were  it  as 
you  wrongly  believe, —  how,  in  honour  to  them,  can  I  desert 
you,  can  I  wed  another?  " 

"Trust  that,  trust  all,  to  me,"  answered  Lucille;  "your 
honour  shall  be  my  care,  none  shall  blame  you;  only  do  not 
let  your  marriage  with  Julie  be  celebrated  here  before  their 
eyes  :  that  is  all  I  ask,  all  they  can  expect.  God  bless  you! 
do  not  fancy  I  shall  be  unhappy,  for  whatever  happiness  the 
world  gives  you,  shall  I  not  have  contributed  to  bestow  it?  — 
and  with  that  thought  I  ain  above  compassion." 

She  glided  from  his  arms,  and  left  him  to  a  solitude  more 
bitter  even  than  that  of  blindness.  That  very  night  Lucille 
sought  her  mother;  to  her  she  confided  all.  I  pass  over  the 
reasons  she  urged,  the  arguments  she  overcame;  she  con- 
quered rather  than  convinced,  and  leaving  to  Madame  le 
Tisseur  the  painful  task  of  breaking  to  her  father  her  unal- 
terable resolution,  she  quitted  Malines  the  next  morning, 
and  with  a  heart  too  honest  to  be  utterly  without  comfort, 
paid  that  visit  to  her  aunt  which  had  been  so  long  deferred. 

The  pride  of  Lucille 's  parents  prevented  them  from  re- 
proaching St.  Amand.  He  could  not  bear,  however,  their 
cold  and  altered  looks;  he  left  their  house;  and  though  for 
several  days  he  would  not  even  see  Julie,  yet  her  beauty  and 
her  art  gradually  resumed  their  empire  over  him.  They  were 
married  at  Courtroi,  and  to  the  joy  of  the  vain  Julie  departed 
to  the  gay  metropolis  of  France.  But,  before  their  departure, 
before  his  marriage,  St.  Amand  endeavoured  to  appease  his 
conscience  by  obtaining  for  M.  le  Tisseur  a  much  more  lucra- 
tive and  honourable  office  than  that  he  now  held.  Rightly 
judging  that  Malines  could  no  longer  be  a  pleasant  residence 
for  them,  and  much  less  for  Lucille,  the  duties  of  the  post 
were  to  be  fulfilled  in  another  town;  and  knowing  that  M.  le 
Tisseur's  delicacy  would  revolt  at  receiving  such  a  favour 
from  his  hands,  he  kept  the  nature  of  his  negotiation  a  close 
secret,  and  suffered  the  honest  citizen  to  believe  that  his  own 
merits  alone  had  entitled  him  to  so  unexpected  a  promotion. 


62  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

Time  went  on.  This  quiet  and  simple  history  of  humble 
affections  took  its  date  in  a  stormy  epoch  of  the  world, —  the 
dawning  Kevolution  of  France.  The  family  of  Lucille  had 
been  little  more  than  a  year  settled  in  their  new  residence 
when  Dumouriez  led  his  army  into  the  Netherlands.  But 
how  meanwhile  had  that  year  passed  for  Lucille?  I  have 
said  that  her  spirit  was  naturally  high;  that  though  so  ten- 
der, she  was  not  weak.  Her  very  pilgrimage  to  Cologne 
alone,  and  at  the  timid  age  of  seventeen,  proved  that  there 
was  a  strength  in  her  nature  no  less  than  a  devotion  in  her 
love.  The  sacrifice  she  had  made  brought  its  own  reward. 
She  believed  St.  Amand  was  happy,  and  she  would  not  give 
way  to  the  selfishness  of  grief;  she  had  still  duties  to  per- 
form; she  could  still  comfort  her  parents  and  cheer  their  age; 
she  could  still  be  all  the  world  to  them :  she  felt  this,  and  was 
consoled.  Only  once  during  the  year  had  she  heard  of  Julie ; 
she  had  been  seen  by  a  mutual  friend  at  Paris,  gay,  brilliant, 
courted,  and  admired;  of  St.  Amand  she  heard  nothing. 

My  tale,  dear  Gertrude,  does  not  lead  me  through  the  harsh 
scenes  of  war.  I  do  not  tell  you  of  the  slaughter  and  the 
siege,  and  the  blood  that  inundated  those  fair  lands, —  the 
great  battlefield  of  Europe.  The  people  of  the  Netherlands 
in  general  were  with  the  cause  of  Dumouriez,  but  the  town  in 
which  Le  Tisseur  dwelt  offered  some  faint  resistance  to  his 
arms.  Le  Tisseur  himself,  despite  his  age,  girded  on  his 
sword;  the  town  was  carried,  and  the  fierce  and  licentious 
troops  of  the  conqueror  poured,  flushed  with  their  easy  vic- 
tory, through  its  streets.  Le  Tisseur's  house  was  filled  with 
drunken  and  rude  troopers;  Lucille  herself  trembled  in  the 
fierce  gripe  of  one  of  those  dissolute  soldiers,  more  bandit 
than  soldier,  whom  the  subtle  Dumouriez  had  united  to  his 
army,  and  by  whose  blood  he  so  often  saved  that  of  his  nobler 
band.  Her  shrieks,  her  cries,  were  vain,  when  suddenly  the 
troopers  gave  way.  "  The  Captain !  brave  Captain !  "  was 
shouted  forth ;  the  insolent  soldier,  felled  by  a  powerful  arm, 
sank  senseless  at  the  feet  of  Lucille,  and  a  glorious  form,  tow- 
ering above  its  fellows, —  even  through  its  glittering  garb, 
even  in  that  dreadful  hour,  remembered  at  a  glance  by  Lu- 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  53 

cille, —  stood  at  her  side;  her  protector,  her  guardian!  Thus 
once  more  she  beheld  St.  Arnand! 

The  house  was  cleared  in  an  instant,  the  door  barred. 
Shouts,  groans,  wild  snatches  of  exulting  song,  the  clang  of 
arms,  the  tramp  of  horses,  the  hurrying  footsteps,  the  deep 
music  sounded  loud,  and  blended  terribly  without.  Lucille 
heard  them  not, —  she  was  on  that  breast  which  never  should 
have  deserted  her. 

Effectually  to  protect  his  friends,  St.  Amand  took  up  his 
quarters  at  their  house ;  and  for  two  days  he  was  once  more 
under  the  same  roof  as  Lucille.  He  never  recurred  volun- 
tarily to  Julie;  he  answered  Lucille's  timid  inquiry  after  her 
health  briefly,  and  with  coldness,  but  he  spoke  with  all  the 
enthusiasm  of  a  long-pent  and  ardent  spirit  of  the  new  profes- 
sion he  had  embraced.  Glory  seemed  now  to  be  his  only  mis- 
tress ;  and  the  vivid  delusion  of  the  first  bright  dreams  of  the 
Revolution  filled  his  mind,  broke  from  his  tongue,  and  lighted 
up  those  dark  eyes  which  Lucille  had  redeemed  to  day. 

She  saw  him  depart  at  the  head  of  his  troops;  she  saw  his 
proud  crest  glancing  in  the  sun;  she  saw  his  steed  winding 
through  the  narrow  street;  she  saw  that  his  last  glance  re- 
verted to  her,  where  she  stood  at  the  door;  and,  as  he  waved 
his  adieu,  she  fancied  that  there  was  on  his  face  that  look  of 
deep  and  grateful  tenderness  which  reminded  her  of  the  one 
bright  epoch  of  her  life. 

She  was  right ;  St.  Amand  had  long  since  in  bitterness  re- 
pented of  a  transient  infatuation,  had  long  since  distinguished 
the  true  Florimel  from  the  false,  and  felt  that,  in  Julie,  Lu- 
cille's wrongs  were  avenged.  But  in  the  hurry  and  heat  of 
war  he  plunged  that  regret  —  the  keenest  of  all  —  which  em- 
bodies the  bitter  words,  "too  late!  " 

Years  passed  away,  and  in  the  resumed  tranquillity  of  Lu- 
cille's life  the  brilliant  apparition  of  St.  Amand  appeared  as 
something  dreamed  of,  not  seen.  The  star  of  Napoleon  had 
risen  above  the  horizon;  the  romance  of  his  early  career  had 
commenced;  and  the  campaign  of  Egypt  had  been  the  herald 
of  those  brilliant  and  meteoric  successes  which  flashed  forth 
from  the  gloom  of  the  Revolution  of  France. 


54  THE  PILGRIMS  OF   THE   RHINE. 

You  are  aware,  dear  Gertrude,  how  many  in  the  French  as 
well  as  the  English  troops  returned  home  from  Egypt  blinded 
with  the  ophthalmia  of  that  arid  soil.  Some  of  the  young 
men  in  Lucille's  town,  who  had  joined  Napoleon's  army,  came 
back  darkened  by  that  fearful  affliction,  and  Lucille's  alms 
and  Lucille's  aid  and  Lucille's  sweet  voice  were  ever  at  hand 
for  those  poor  sufferers,  whose  common  misfortune  touched  so 
thrilling  a  chord  of  her  heart. 

Her  father  was  now  dead,  and  she  had  only  her  mother  to 
cheer  amidst  the  ills  of  age.  As  one  evening  they  sat  at  work 
together,  Madame  le  Tisseur  said,  after  a  pause, — 

"I  wish,  dear  Lucille,  thou  couldst  be  persuaded  to  marry 
Justin ;  he  loves  thee  well,  and  now  that  thou  art  yet  young, 
and  hast  many  years  before  thee,  thou  shouldst  remember  that 
when  I  die  thou  wilt  be  alone." 

"  Ah,  cease,  dearest  mother,  I  never  can  marry  now ;  and  as 
for  love  —  once  taught  in  the  bitter  school  in  which  I  have 
learned  the  knowledge  of  myself  —  I  cannot  be  deceived 
again." 

"  My  Lucille,  you  do  not  know  yourself.  Never  was  woman 
loved  if  Justin  does  not  love  you;  and  never  did  lover  feel 
with  more  real  warmth  how  worthily  he  loved." 

And  this  was  true;  and  not  of  Justin  alone,  for  Lucille's 
modest  virtues,  her  kindly  temper,  and  a  certain  undulating 
and  feminine  grace,  which  accompanied  all  her  movements, 
had  secured  her  as  many  conquests  as  if  she  had  been  beauti- 
ful. She  had  rejected  all  offers  of  marriage  with  a  shudder; 
without  even  the  throb  of  a  flattered  vanity.  One  memory, 
sadder,  was  also  dearer  to  her  than  all  things ;  and  something 
sacred  in  its  recollections  made  her  deem  it  even  a  crime  to 
think  of  effacing  the  past  by  a  new  affection. 

"I  believe,"  continued  Madame  le  Tisseur,  angrily,  "that 
thou  still  thinkest  fondly  of  him  from  whom  only  in  the 
world  thou  couldst  have  experienced  ingratitude." 

"Nay,  Mother,"  said  Lucille,  with  a  blush  and  a  slight 
sigh,  "Eugene  is  married  to  another." 

While  thus  conversing,  they  heard  a  gentle  and  timid  knock 
at  the  door;   the  latch  was  lifted.     "This,"  said  the  rough 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  55 

voice  of  a  commissionaire  of  the  town,  "this,  monsieur,  is  the 
house  of  Madame  le  Tisseur,  and  voila  mademoiselle  !  "  A  tall 
figure,  with  a  shade  over  his  eyes,  and  wrapped  in  a  long 
military  cloak,  stood  in  the  room.  A  thrill  shot  across 
Lucille's  heart.  He  stretched  out  his  arms.  "Lucille,"  said 
that  melancholy  voice,  which  had  made  the  music  of  her  first 
youth,  "where  art  thou,  Lucille?  Alas!  she  does  not  recog- 
nize St.  Amand." 

Thus  was  it  indeed.  By  a  singular  fatality,  the  burning 
suns  and  the  sharp  dust  of  the  plains  of  Egypt  had  smitten 
the  young  soldier,  in  the  flush  of  his  career,  with  a  second  — 
and  this  time  with  an  irremediable  —  blindness !  He  had  re- 
turned to  France  to  find  his  hearth  lonely.  Julie  was  no 
more, —  a  sudden  fever  had  cut  her  off  in  the  midst  of  youth; 
and  he  had  sought  his  way  to  Lucille's  house,  to  see  if  one 
hope  yet  remained  to  him  in  the  world! 

And  when,  days  afterwards,  humbly  and  sadly  he  re-urged 
a  former  suit,  did  Lucille  shut  her  heart  to  its  prayer?  Did 
her  pride  remember  its  wound;  did  she  revert  to  his  deser- 
tion; did  she  reply  to  the  whisper  of  her  yearning  love, 
"  Thou  hast  been  before  forsaken "  ?  That  voice  and  those 
darkened  eyes  pleaded  to  her  with  a  pathos  not  to  be  resisted. 
"I  am  once  more  necessary  to  him,"  was  all  her  thought;  "if 
I  reject  him  who  will  tend  him?  "  In  that  thought  was  the 
motive  of  her  conduct ;  in  that  thought  gushed  back  upon  her 
soul  all  the  springs  of  checked  but  unconquered,  unconquer- 
able love !  In  that  thought,  she  stood  beside  him  at  the  altar, 
and  pledged,  with  a  yet  holier  devotion  than  she  might  have 
felt  of  yore,  the  vow  of  her  imperishable  truth. 

And  Lucille  found,  in  the  future,  a  reward,  which  the  com- 
mon world  could  never  comprehend.  With  his  blindness  re- 
turned all  the  feelings  she  had  first  awakened  in  St.  Amand's 
solitary  heart ;  again  he  yearned  for  her  step,  again  he  missed 
even  a  moment's  absence  from  his  side,  again  her  voice  chased 
the  shadow  from  his  brow,  and  in  her  presence  was  a  sense  of 
shelter  and  of  sunshine.  He  no  longer  sighed  for  the  blessing 
he  had  lost;  he  reconciled  himself  to  fate,  and  entered  into 
that  serenity  of  mood  which  mostly  characterizes  the  blind. 


66  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

Perhaps  after  we  have  seen  the  actual  world,  and  experienced 
its  hollow  pleasures,  we  can  resign  ourselves  the  better  to  its 
exclusion ;  and  as  the  cloister,  which  repels  the  ardour  of  our 
hope,  is  sweet  to  our  remembrance,  so  the  darkness  loses  its 
terror  when  experience  has  wearied  us  with  the  glare  and 
travail  of  the  day.  It  was  something,  too,  as  they  advanced 
in  life,  to  feel  the  chains  that  bound  him  to  Lucille  strength- 
ening daily,  and  to  cherish  in  his  overflowing  heart  the  sweet- 
ness of  increasing  gratitude;  it  was  something  that  he  could 
not  see  years  wrinkle  that  open  brow,  or  dim  the  tenderness 
of  that  touching  smile;  it  was  something  that  to  him  she  was 
beyond  the  reach  of  time,  and  preserved  to  the  verge  of  a 
grave  (which  received  them  both  within  a  few  days  of  each 
other)  in  all  the  bloom  of  her  unwithering  affection,  in  all  the 
freshness  of  a  heart  that  never  could  grow  old! 

Gertrude,  who  had  broken  in  upon  Trevylyan's  story  by  a 
thousand  anxious  interruptions,  and  a  thousand  pretty  apolo- 
gies for  interrupting,  was  charmed  with  a  tale  in  which  true 
love  was  made  happy  at  last,  although  she  did  not  forgive 
St.  Amand  his  ingratitude,  and  although  she  declared,  with  a 
critical  shake  of  the  head,  that  *'  it  was  very  unnatural  that 
the  mere  beauty  of  Julie,  or  the  mere  want  of  it  in  Lucille, 
should  have  produced  such  an  effect  upon  him,  if  he  had  ever 
really  loved  Lucille  in  his  blindness." 

As  they  passed  through  Malines,  the  town  assumed  an  in- 
terest in  Gertrude's  eyes  to  which  it  scarcely  of  itself  was  en- 
titled. She  looked  wistfully  at  the  broad  market-place,  at  a 
corner  of  which  was  one  of  those  out-of-door  groups  of  quiet 
and  noiseless  revellers,  which  Dutch  art  has  raised  from  the 
Familiar  to  the  Picturesque;  and  then  glancing  to  the  tower 
of  St.  Rembauld,  she  fancied,  amidst  the  silence  of  noon,  that 
she  yet  heard  the  plaintive  cry  of  the  blind  orphan,  "  Fido, 
Pido,  why  hast  thou  deserted  me?  " 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  57 


CHAPTER  V. 

ROTTERDAM.  THE    CHARACTER    OF    THE    DUTCH.  THEIR    RE- 
SEMBLANCE   TO    THE  GERMANS.  A  DISPUTE    BETWEEN  VANE 

AND  TREVYLYAN,  AFTER  THE  MANNER  OF  THE  ANCIENT 
NOVELISTS,  AS  TO  WHICH  IS  PREFERABLE,  THE  LIFE  OF 
ACTION  OR  THE  LIFE  OF  REPOSE.  TREVYLYAn's  CON- 
TRAST BETWEEN  LITERARY  AMBITION  AND  THE  AMBITION 
OF    PUBLIC    LIFE. 

Our  travellers  arrived  at  Rotterdam  on  a  bright  and  sunny- 
day.  There  is  a  cheerfulness  about  the  operations  of  Com- 
merce,—  a  life,  a  bustle,  an  action  which  always  exhilarate 
the  spirits  at  the  first  glance.  Afterwards  they  fatigue  us; 
we  get  too  soon  behind  the  scenes,  and  find  the  base  and 
troublous  passions  which  move  the  puppets  and  conduct  the 
drama. 

But  Gertrude,  in  whom  ill  health  had  not  destroyed  the 
vividness  of  impression  that  belongs  to  the  inexperienced, 
was  delighted  at  the  cheeriness  of  all  around  her.  As  she 
leaned  lightly  on  Trevylyan's  arm,  he  listened  with  a  forget- 
ful joy  to  her  questions  and  exclamations  at  the  stir  and  live- 
liness of  a  city  from  which  was  to  commence  their  pilgrimage 
along  the  Rhine.  And  indeed  the  scene  was  rife  with  the 
spirit  of  that  people  at  once  so  active  and  so  patient,  so  dar- 
ing on  the  sea,  so  cautious  on  the  land.  Industry  was  visi- 
ble everywhere ;  the  vessels  in  the  harbour,  the  crowded  boat 
putting  off  to  land,  the  throng  on  the  quay, —  all  looked  bus- 
tling and  spoke  of  commerce.  The  city  itself,  on  which  the 
skies  shone  fairly  through  light  and  fleecy  clouds,  wore  a 
cheerful  aspect.  The  church  of  St.  Lawrence  rising  above 
the  clean,  neat  houses,  and  on  one  side  trees  thickly  grouped, 
gayly  contrasted  at  once  the  waters  and  the  city. 

"I  like  this  place,"  said  Gertrude's  father,  quietly;  "it  has 
an  air  of  comfort." 


58  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

"And  an  absence  of  grandeur,"  said  Trevylyan. 

"  A  commercial  people  are  one  great  middle-class  in  their 
habits  and  train  of  mind, "  replied  Vane ;  "  and  grandeur  be- 
longs to  the  extremes, —  an  impoverished  population  and  a 
wealthy  despot." 

They  went  to  see  the  statue  of  Erasmus,  and  the  house  in 
which  he  was  born.  Vane  had  a  certain  admiration  for  Eras- 
mus which  his  companions  did  not  share ;  he  liked  the  quiet 
irony  of  the  sage,  and  his  knowledge  of  the  world;  and,  be- 
sides. Vane  was  at  that  time  of  life  when  philosophers  become 
objects  of  interest.  At  first  they  are  teachers;  secondly, 
friends ;  and  it  is  only  a  few  who  arrive  at  the  third  stage, 
and  find  them  deceivers.  The  Dutch  are  a  singular  people. 
Their  literature  is  neglected,  but  it  has  some  of  the  German 
vein  in  its  strata, —  the  patience,  the  learning,  the  homely 
delineation,  and  even  some  traces  of  the  mixture  of  the  hu- 
morous and  the  terrible  which  form  that  genius  for  the  gro- 
tesque so  especially  German  —  you  find  this  in  their  legends 
and  ghost-stories.  But  in  Holland  activity  destroys,  in  Ger- 
many indolence  nourishes,  romance. 

They  stayed  a  day  or  two  at  Eotterdam,  and  then  proceeded 
up  the  Rhine  to  Gorcum.  The  banks  were  flat  and  tame,  and 
nothing  could  be  less  impressive  of  its  native  majesty  than 
this  part  of  the  course  of  the  great  river. 

"I  never  felt  before,"  whispered  Gertrude,  tenderly,  "how 
much  there  was  of  consolation  in  your  presence;  for  here  I 
am  at  last  on  the  Ehine, —  the  blue  Rhine,  and  how  disap- 
pointed I  should  be  if  you  were  not  by  my  side !  " 

"But,  my  Gertrude,  you  must  wait  till  we  have  passed 
Cologne,  before  the  glories  of  the  Rhine  burst  upon  you." 

"It  reverses  life,  my  child,"  said  the  moralizing  Vane; 
"  and  the  stream  flows  through  dulness  at  first,  reserving  its 
poetry  for  our  perseverance." 

"I  will  not  allow  your  doctrine,"  said  Trevylyan,  as  the 
ambitious  ardour  of  his  native  disposition  stirred  within  him. 
"Life  has  always  action;  it  is  our  own  fault  if  it  ever  be  dull: 
youth  has  its  enterprise,  manhood  its  schemes;  and  even  if 
infirmity  creep  upon  age,  the  mind,  the  mind  still  triumphs 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF   THE  RHIXE.  59 

over  the  mortal  clay,  and  in  the  quiet  hermitage,  among  books, 
and  from  thoughts,  keeps  the  great  wheel  within  everlastingly 
in  motion.  No,  the  better  class  of  spirits  have  always  an  an- 
tidote to  the  insipidity  of  a  common  career,  they  have  ever 
energy  at  will  —  " 

"And  never  happiness!"  answered  Vane,  after  a  pause,  as 
he  gazed  on  the  proud  countenance  of  Trevylyan,  with  that 
kind  of  calm,  half-pitying  interest  which  belonged  to  a  charac- 
ter deeply  imbued  with  the  philosophy  of  a  sad  experience  act- 
ing upon  an  uuimpassioned  heart.  "  And  in  truth,  Trevylyan, 
it  would  please  me  if  I  could  but  teach  you  the  folly  of  prefer- 
ring the  exercise  of  that  energy  of  which  you  speak  to  the 
golden  luxuries  of  rest.  What  ambition  can  ever  bring  an 
adequate  reward?  Not,  surely,  the  ambition  of  letters,  the 
desire  of  intellectual  renown!" 

"True,"  said  Trevylyan,  quietly;  "that  dream  I  have  long 
renounced;  there  is  nothing  palpable  in  literary  fame, —  it 
scarcely  perhaps  soothes  the  vain,  it  assuredly  chafes  the 
proud.  In  my  earlier  years  I  attempted  some  works  which 
gained  what  the  world,  perhaps  rightly,  deemed  a  sufficient 
need  of  reputation;  yet  it  was  not  sufficient  to  recompense 
myself  for  the  fresh  hours  I  had  consumed,  for  the  sacrifices 
of  pleasure  I  had  made.  The  subtle  aims  that  had  inspired 
me  were  not  perceived ;  the  thoughts  that  had  seemed  new  and 
beautiful  to  me  fell  flat  and  lustreless  on  the  soul  of  others. 
If  I  was  approved,  it  was  often  for  what  I  condemned  myself; 
and  I  found  that  the  trite  commonplace  and  the  false  wit 
charmed,  while  the  truth  fatigued,  and  the  enthusiasm  re- 
volted. For  men  of  that  genius  to  which  I  make  no  preten- 
sion, who  have  dwelt  apart  in  the  obscurity  of  their  own 
thoughts,  gazing  upon  stars  that  shine  not  for  the  dull 
sleepers  of  the  world,  it  must  be  a  keen  sting  to  find  the  pro- 
duct of  their  labour  confounded  with  a  class,  and  to  be  min- 
gled up  in  men's  judgment  with  the  faults  or  merits  of  a 
tribe.  Every  great  genius  must  deem  himself  original  and 
alone  in  his  conceptions.  It  is  not  enough  for  him  that  these 
conceptions  should  be  approved  as  good,  unless  they  are  ad- 
mitted as  inventive,  if  they  mix  him  with  the  herd  he  has 


60  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

shunned,  not  separate  him  in  fame  as  he  has  been  separated 
in  soul.  Some  Frenchman,  the  oracle  of  his  circle,  said  of 
the  poet  of  the  'PhSdre, '  'Racine  and  the  other  imitators  of 
Corneille ; '  and  Racine,  in  his  wrath,  nearly  forswore  tragedy 
forever.  It  is  in  vain  to  tell  the  author  that  the  public  is  the 
judge  of  his  works.  The  author  believes  himself  above  the 
public,  or  he  would  never  have  written;  and,"  continued 
Trevylyan,  with  enthusiasm,  "he  is  above  them;  their  fiat 
may  crush  his  glory,  but  never  his  self-esteem.  He  stands 
alone  and  haughty  amidst  the  wrecks  of  the  temple  he  imag- 
ined he  had  raised  *  to  the  future,  '  and  retaliates  neglect 
with  scorn.  But  is  this,  the  life  of  scorn,  a  pleasurable  state 
of  existence?  Is  it  one  to  be  cherished?  Does  even  the 
moment  of  fame  counterbalance  the  years  of  mortification? 
And  what  is  there  in  literary  fame  itself  present  and  palpable 
to  its  heir?  His  work  is  a  pebble  thrown  into  the  deep;  the 
stir  lasts  for  a  moment,  and  the  wave  closes  up,  to  be  suscep- 
tible no  more  to  the  same  impression.  The  circle  may  widen 
to  other  lands  and  other  ages,  but  around  him  it  is  weak  and 
faint.  The  trifles  of  the  day,  the  low  politics,  the  base  in- 
trigues, occupy  the  tongue,  and  fill  the  thought  of  his  contem- 
poraries. He  is  less  known  than  a  mountebank,  or  a  new 
dancer;  his  glory  comes  not  home  to  him;  it  brings  no  pres- 
ent, no  perpetual  reward,  like  the  applauses  that  wait  the 
actor,  or  the  actor-like  murmur  of  the  senate;  and  this,  which 
vexes,  also  lowers  him;  his  noble  nature  begins  to  nourish 
the  base  vices  of  jealousy,  and  the  unwillingness  to  admire. 
Goldsmith  is  forgotten  in  the  presence  of  a  puppet;  he  feels 
it,  and  is  mean;  he  expresses  it,  and  is  ludicrous.  It  is  well 
to  say  that  great  minds  will  not  stoop  to  jealousy;  in  the 
greatest  minds,  it  is  most  frequent.-'  Few  authors  are  ever  so 
aware  of  the  admiration  they  excite  as  to  afford  to  be  gener- 
ous; and  this  melancholy  truth  revolts  us  with  our  own  am- 

1  See  the  long  list  of  names  furnished  by  Disraeli,  in  that  most  exquisite 
work,  "  The  Literary  Character,"  vol.  ii.  p.  75.  Plato,  Xenophon,  Chancer, 
Corneille,  Voltaire,  Dryden,  the  Caracci,  Domenico  Venetiano,  murdered  by 
his  envious  friend,  and  the  gentle  Castillo  fainting  away  at  the  genius  of 
Murillo. 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  61 

bition.  Shall  we  be  demigods  in  our  closets  at  the  price  of 
sinking  below  mortality  in  the  world?  No!  it  was  from  this 
deep  sentiment  of  the  unrealness  of  literary  fame,  of  dissatis- 
faction at  the  fruits  it  produced,  of  fear  for  the  meanness  it 
engendered,  that  I  resigned  betimes  all  love  for  its  career; 
and  if,  by  the  restless  desire  that  haunts  men  who  think  much 
to  write  ever,  I  should  be  urged  hereafter  to  literature,  I  will 
sternly  teach  myself  to  persevere  in  the  indifference  to  its 
fame." 

"You  say  as  I  would  say,"  answered  Vane,  with  his  tran- 
quil smile;  "and  your  experience  corroborates  my  theory. 
Ambition,  then,  is  not  the  root  of  happiness.  Why  more  in 
action  than  in  letters?  " 

"Because,"  said  Trevylyan,  "in  action  we  commonly  gain 
in  our  life  all  the  honour  we  deserve:  the  public  judge  of 
men  better  and  more  rapidly  than  of  books.  And  he  who 
takes  to  himself  in  action  a  high  and  pure  ambition,  associates 
it  with  so  many  objects,  that,  unlike  literature,  the  failure  of 
one  is  balanced  by  the  success  of  the  other.  He,  the  creator 
of  deeds,  not  resembling  the  creator  of  books,  stands  not  alone; 
he  is  eminently  social;  he  has  many  comrades,  and  without 
their  aid  he  could  not  accomplish  his  designs.  This  divides 
and  mitigates  the  impatient  jealousy  against  others.  He 
works  for  a  cause,  and  knows  early  that  he  cannot  monopolize 
its  whole  glory;  he  shares  what  he  is  aware  it  is  impossible 
to  engross.  Besides,  action  leaves  him  no  time  for  brooding 
over  disappointment.  The  author  has  consumed  his  youth  in 
a  work, —  it  fails  in  glory.  Can  he  write  another  work?  Bid 
him  call  back  another  youth !  But  in  action,  the  labour  of  the 
mind  is  from  day  to  day.  A  week  replaces  what  a  week  has 
lost,  and  all  the  aspirant's  fame  is  of  the  present.  It  is 
lipped  by  the  Babel  of  the  living  world;  he  is  ever  on  the 
stage,  and  the  spectators  are  ever  ready  to  applaud.  Thus 
perpetually  in  the  service  of  others  self  ceases  to  be  his 
world;  he  has  no  leisure  to  brood  over  real  or  imaginary 
wrongs ;  the  excitement  whirls  on  the  machine  till  it  is  worn 
out  —  " 

"And  kicked  aside,"  said  Vane,  "with  the  broken  lumber 


62  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHIXE. 

of  men's  other  tools,  in  the  chamber  of  their  son's  forgetful- 
ness.  Your  man  of  action  lasts  but  for  an  hour;  the  man  of 
letters  lasts  for  ages." 

"We  live  not  for  ages,"  answered  Trevylyan;  "our  life  is 
on  earth,  and  not  in  the  grave." 

*'But  even  grant,"  continued  Vane  —  "and  I  for  one  will 
concede  the  point  —  that  posthumous  fame  is  not  worth  the 
living  agonies  that  obtain  it,  how  are  you  better  off  in  your 
poor  and  vulgar  career  of  action?  Would  you  assist  the 
rulers?  —  servility!  The  people?  —  folly!  If  you  take  the 
great  philosophical  view  which  the  worshippers  of  the  past 
rarely  take,  but  which,  unknown  to  them,  is  their  sole  ex- 
cuse,—  namely,  that  the  changes  which  may  benefit  the  future 
unsettle  the  present;  and  that  it  is  not  the  wisdom  of  practi- 
cal legislation  to  risk  the  peace  of  our  contemporaries  in  the 
hope  of  obtaining  happiness  for  their  posterity, — to  what  sus- 
picions, to  what  charges  are  you  exposed!  You  are  deemed 
the  foe  of  all  liberal  opinion,  and  you  read  your  curses  in  the 
eyes  of  a  nation.  But  take  the  side  of  the  people.  What  ca- 
price, what  ingratitude!  You  have  professed  so  much  in 
theory,  that  you  can  never  accomplish  sufficient  in  practice. 
Moderation  becomes  a  crime;  to  be  prudent  is  to  be  perfidious. 
New  demagogues,  without  temperance,  because  without  prin- 
ciple, outstrip  you  in  the  moment  of  your  greatest  services. 
The  public  is  the  grave  of  a  great  man's  deeds;  it  is  never 
sated;  its  maw  is  eternally  open;  it  perpetually  craves  for 
more.  Where,  in  the  history  of  the  world,  do  you  find  the 
gratitude  of  a  people?  You  find  fervour,  it  is  true,  but  not 
gratitude, —  the  fervour  that  exaggerates  a  benefit  at  one  mo- 
ment, but  not  the  gratitude  that  remembers  it  the  next  year. 
Once  disappoint  them,  and  all  your  actions,  all  your  sacri- 
fices, are  swept  from  their  remembrance  forever;  they  break 
the  windows  of  the  very  house  they  have  given  you,  and  melt 
down  their  medals  into  bullets.  Who  serves  man,  ruler  or 
peasant,  serves  the  ungrateful ;  and  all  the  ambitious  are  but 
types  of  a  Wolsey  or  a  De  Witt." 

"And  what,"  said  Trevjdyan,  "consoles  a  man  in  the  ills 
that  flesh  is  heir  to,  in  that  state  of  obscure  repose,  that  se- 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF   THE  RHINE.  63 

rene  inactivity  to  which  you  woiihl  confine  him?  Is  it  not 
his  conscience?  Is  it  not  his  self-acquittal,  or  his  self- 
approval?  " 

"Doubtless,"  replied  Vane. 

"Be  it  so,"  answered  the  high-souled  Trevylyan;  "the  same 
consolation  awaits  us  in  action  as  in  repose.  We  sedulously 
pursue  what  we  deem  to  be  true  glory.  We  are  maligned; 
but  our  soul  acquits  us.  Could  it  do  more  in  the  scandal  and 
the  prejudice  that  assail  us  in  private  life?  You  are  silent; 
but  note  how  much  deeper  should  be  the  comfort,  how  much 
loftier  the  self-esteem;  for  if  calumny  attack  us  in  a  wilful 
obscurity,  what  have  we  done  to  refute  the  calumny?  How 
have  we  served  our  species?  Have  we  'scorned  delight  and 
loved  laborious  days  '?  Have  we  made  the  utmost  of  the 
'talent'  confided  to  our  care?  Have  we  done  those  good  deeds 
to  our  race  upon  which  we  can  retire, —  an  'Estate  of  Benefi- 
cence, ' —  from  the  malice  of  the  world,  and  feel  that  our  deeds 
are  our  defenders?  This  is  the  consolation  of  virtuous  ac- 
tions; is  it  so  of  —  even  a  virtuous  —  indolence?" 

"You  speak  as  a  preacher,"  said  Vane, — "I  merely  as  a 
calculator;  you  of  virtue  in  affliction,  I  of  a  life  in  ease." 

"Well,  then,  if  the  consciousness  of  perpetual  endeavour 
to  advance  our  race  be  not  alone  happier  than  the  life  of  ease, 
let  us  see  what  this  vaunted  ease  really  is.  Tell  me,  is  it  not 
another  name  for  ennui  ?  This  state  of  quiescence,  this  ob- 
jectless, dreamless  torpor,  this  transition  du  lit  a  la  table,  de 
la  table  au  lit, —  what  more  dreary  and  monotonous  existence 
can  you  devise?  Is  it  pleasure  in  this  inglorious  existence  to 
think  that  you  are  serving  pleasure?  Is  it  freedom  to  be  the 
slave  to  self?  For  I  hold,"  continued  Trevylyan,  "that  this 
jargon  of  'consulting  happiness,'  this  cant  of  living  for  our- 
selves, is  biit  a  mean  as  well  as  a  false  philosophy.  Why  this 
eternal  reference  to  self?  Is  self  alone  to  be  consulted?  Is 
even  our  happiness,  did  it  truly  consist  in  repose,  really  the 
great  end  of  life?  I  doubt  if  we  cannot  ascend  higher.  I 
doubt  if  we  cannot  say  with  a  great  moralist,  'If  virtue  be 
not  estimable  in  itself,  we  can  see  nothing  estimable  in  fol- 
lowing it  for  the  sake  of  a  bargain. '     But,  in  fact,  repose  is 


64  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

the  poorest  of  all  delusions ;  the  very  act  of  recurring  to  self 
brings  about  us  all  those  ills  of  self  from  which,  in  the  tur- 
moil of  the  world,  we  can  escape.  We  become  hypochon- 
driacs. Our  very  health  grows  an  object  of  painful  possession. 
We  are  so  desirous  to  be  well  (for  what  is  retirement  without 
health?)  that  we  are  ever  fancying  ourselves  ill;  and,  like  the 
man  in  the  'Spectator,'  we  weigh  ourselves  daily,  and  live 
but  by  grains  and  scruples.  Retirement  is  happy  only  for 
the  poet,  for  to  him  it  is  not  retirement.  He  secedes  from 
one  world  but  to  gain  another,  and  he  finds  not  ennui  in  seclu- 
sion: why?  Not  because  seclusion  hath  repose,  but  because  it 
hath  occupation.  In  one  word,  then,  I  say  of  action  and  of 
indolence,  grant  the  same  ills  to  both,  and  to  action  there  is 
the  readier  escape  or  the  nobler  consolation." 

Vane  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Ah,  my  dear  friend,"  said 
he,  tapping  his  snuff-box  with  benevolent  superiority,  "you 
are  much  younger  than  I  am !  " 

But  these  conversations,  which  Trevylyan  and  Vane  often 
held  together,  dull  as  I  fear  this  specimen  must  seem  to  the 
reader,  had  an  inexpressible  charm  for  Gertrude.  She  loved 
the  lofty  and  generous  vein  of  philosophy  which  Trevylyan 
embraced,  and  which,  while  it  suited  his  ardent  nature,  con- 
trasted a  demeanour  commonly  hard  and  cold  to  all  but  her- 
self. And  young  and  tender  as  she  was,  his  ambition  infused 
its  spirit  into  her  fine  imagination,  and  that  passion  for  en- 
terprise which  belongs  inseparably  to  romance.  She  loved  to 
muse  over  his  future  lot,  and  in  fancy  to  share  its  toils  and 
to  exult  in  its  triumphs.  And  if  sometimes  she  asked  herself 
whether  a  career  of  action  might  not  estrange  him  from  her, 
she  had  but  to  turn  her  gaze  upon  his  watchful  eye, —  and  lo, 
he  was  by  her  side  or  at  her  feet! 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF   THE   IIIIIXE.  G5 


CHAPTER   VI. 

GORCUM.  —  THE   TOUR   OF   THE    VIRTUES :    A   PHILOSOPHER'S 

TALE. 

It  was  a  briglit  and  cheery  morning  as  they  glided  by  Gor- 
cum.  The  boats  pulling  to  the  shore  full  of  fishermen  and 
peasants  in  their  national  costume;  the  breeze  freshly  rip- 
pling the  waters ;  the  lightness  of  the  blue  sky ;  the  loud  and 
laughing  voices  from  the  boats, —  all  contributed  to  raise  the 
spirit,  and  fill  it  with  that  indescribable  gladness  which  is 
the  physical  sense  of  life. 

The  tower  of  the  church,  with  its  long  windows  and  its 
round  dial,  rose  against  the  clear  sky;  and  on  a  bench  under 
a  green  bush  facing  the  water  sat  a  jolly  Hollander,  refresh- 
ing the  breezes  with  the  fumes  of  his  national  weed. 

"How  little  it  requires  to  make  a  journey  pleasant,  when 
the  companions  are  our  friends ! "  said  Gertrude,  as  they 
sailed  along.  "Nothing  can  be  duller  than  these  banks,  noth-- 
ing  more  delightful  than  this  voyage." 

"  Yet  what  tries  the  affections  of  people  for  each  other  so 
severely  as  a  journey  together?"  said  Vane.  "That  perpetual 
companionship  from  which  there  is  no  escaping;  that  confine- 
ment, in  all  our  moments  of  ill-humour  and  listlessness,  with' 
persons  who  want  us  to  look  amused  —  ah,  it  is  a  severe  or- 
deal for  friendship  to  pass  through !  A  post-chaise  must  have 
jolted  many  an  intimacy  to  death." 

"You  speak  feelingly,  dear  father,"  said  Gertrude,  laugh- 
ing; "and,  I  suspect,  with  a  slight  desire  to  be  sarcastic  upon 
us.  Yet,  seriously,  I  should  think  that  travel  must  be  like 
life,  and  that  good  persons  must  be  always  agreeable  compan- 
ions to  each  other." 

"  Good  persons,  my  Gertrude !  "  answered  Vane,  with  a 
smile.     "Alas!   I  fear  the  good  weary  each  other  quite  as 

5 


66  THE  PILGRIMS  OF   THE  RHINE. 

nuich  as  the  bad.  Wliat  say  you,  Trevylyan, —  would  Virtue 
be  a  pleasant  companion  from  Paris  to  Petersburg?  Ah,  I 
see  you  intend  to  be  on  Gertrude's  side  of  the  question.  Well 
now,  if  I  tell  you  a  story,  since  stories  are  so  much  the  fash- 
ion with  you,  in  which  you  shall  find  that  the  Virtues  them- 
selves actually  made  the  experiment  of  a  tour,  will  you 
promise  to  attend  to  the  moral?" 

"Oh,  dear  father,  anything  for  a  story,"  cried  Gertrude; 
"  especially  from  you,  who  have  not  told  us  one  all  the  way. 
Come,  listen,  Albert;  nay,  listen  to  your  new  rival." 

And,  pleased  to  see  the  vivacity  of  the  invalid.  Vane  began 
as  follows :  — 

THE   TOUR   OF   THE   VIRTUES: 
A  philosopher's  tale. 

Once  upon  a  time,  several  of  the  Virtues,  weary  of  living 
forever  with  the  Bishop  of  Norwich,  resolved  to  make  a  little 
excursion ;  accordingly,  though  they  knew  everything  on  earth 
was  very  ill  prepared  to  receive  them,  they  thought  they 
might  safely  venture  on  a  tour  from  Westminster  Bridge  to 
Kichmond.  The  day  was  fine,  the  wind  in  their  favour, 
and  as  to  entertainment, —  why,  there  seemed,  according  to 
Gertrude,  to  be  no  possibility  of  any  disagreement  among  the 
Virtues. 

They  took  a  boat  at  Westminster  stairs ;  and  just  as  they 
were  about  to  push  off,  a  poor  woman,  all  in  rags,  with  a 
child  in  her  arms,  implored  their  compassion.  Charity  put 
her  hand  into  her  reticule  and  took  out  a  shilling.  Justice, 
turning  round  to  look  after  the  luggage,  saw  the  folly  which 
Charity  was  about  to  commit.  "Heavens!  "  cried  Justice, 
seizing  poor  Charity  by  the  arm,  "what  are  you  doing?  Have 
you  never  read  Political  Economy?  Don't  you  know  that 
indiscriminate  almsgiving  is  only  the  encouragement  to  Idle- 
ness, the  mother  of  Vice?  You  a  Virtue,  indeed!  I'm 
ashamed  of  you.  Get  along  with  you,  good  woman; — yet 
stay,  there  is  a  ticket  for  soup  at  the  Mendicity  Society; 
they'll  see  if  you're  a  proper  object  of  compassion."  But 
Charity  is  quicker  than  Justice,  and  slipping  her  hand  behind 


THE   PILGRIMS   OF   THE  RIIIXE.  67 

her,  the  poor  woman  got  the  shilling  and  the  ticket  for  soup 
too.  Economy  and  Generosity  saw  the  double  gift.  "What 
waste!"  cried  Economy,  frowning;  "what!  a  ticket  and  a 
shilling?  either  would  have  sufficed." 

"  Either !  "  said  Generosity,  "  fie !  Charity  should  have 
given  the  poor  creature  half-a-crown,  and  Justice  a  dozen 
tickets!  "  So  the  next  ten  minutes  were  consumed  in  a  quarrel 
between  the  four  Virtues,  which  would  have  lasted  all  the  way 
to  Richmond,  if  Courage  had  not  advised  them  to  get  on  shore 
and  fight  it  out.  Upon  this,  the  Virtues  suddenly  perceived 
they  had  a  little  forgotten  themselves,  and  Generosity  offering 
the  first  apology,  they  made  it  up,  and  went  on  very  agreeably 
for  the  next  mile  or  two. 

The  day  now  grew  a  little  overcast,  and  a  shower  seemed  at 
hand.  Prudence,  who  had  on  a  new  bonnet,  suggested  the 
propriety  of  putting  to  shore  for  half  an  hour;  Courage  was 
for  braving  the  rain ;  but,  as  most  of  the  Virtues  are  ladies, 
Prudence  carried  it.  Just  as  they  were  about  to  land,  an- 
other boat  cut  in  before  them  very  uncivilly,  and  gave  theirs 
such  a  shake  that  Charity  was  all  but  overboard.  The  com- 
pany on  board  the  uncivil  boat,  who  evidently  thought  the 
Virtues  extremely  low  persons,  for  they  had  nothing  very  fash- 
ionable about  their  exterior,  burst  out  laughing  at  Charity 's 
discomposure,  especially  as  a  large  basket  full  of  buns,  which 
Charity  carried  with  her  for  any  hungry-looking  children  she 
might  encounter  at  Richmond,  fell  pounce  into  the  water. 
Courage  was  all  on  fire;  he  twisted  his  mustache,  and  would 
have  made  an  onset  on  the  enemy,  if,  to  his  great  indignation, 
Meekness  had  not  forestalled  him,  by  stepping  mildly  into 
the  hostile  boat  and  offering  both  cheeks  to  the  foe.  This 
was  too  much  even  for  the  incivility  of  the  boatmen;  they 
made  their  excuses  to  the  Virtues,  and  Courage,  who  is  no 
bully,  thought  himself  bound  discontentedly  to  accept  them. 
But  oh!  if  you  had  seen  how  Courage  used  Meekness  after- 
wards, you  could  not  have  believed  it  possible  that  one  Virtue 
could  be  so  enraged  with  another.  This  quarrel  between  the 
two  threw  a  damp  on  the  party;  and  they  proceeded  on  their 
voyage,   when  the  shower  was  over,  with  anything  but  cor- 


68  THE  PILGRBIS  OF   THE  RHINE. 

cliality.  I  spare  you  the  little  squabbles  that  took  place  in 
the  general  conversation, —  how  Economy  found  fault  with  all 
the  villas  by  the  way,  and  Temperance  expressed  becoming 
indignation  at  the  luxuries  of  the  City  barge.  They  arrived 
at  Richmond,  and  Temperance  was  appointed  to  order  the 
dinner;  meanwhile  Hospitality,  walking  in  the  garden,  fell 
in  with  a  large  party  of  Irishmen,  and  asked  them  to  join 
the  repast. 

Imagine  the  long  faces  of  Economy  and  Prudence,  when 
they  saw  the  addition  to  the  company !  Hospitality  was  all 
spirits;  he  rubbed  his  hands  and  called  for  champagne  with 
the  tone  of  a  younger  brother.  Temperance  soon  grew  scan- 
dalized, and  Modesty  herself  coloured  at  some  of  the  jokes; 
but  Hospitality,  who  was  now  half  seas  over,  called  the  one 
a  milksop,  and  swore  at  the  other  as  a  prude.  Away  went 
the  hours;  it  was  time  to  return,  and  they  made  down  to  the 
water-side,  thoroughly  out  of  temper  with  one  another.  Econ- 
omy and  Generosity  quarrelling  all  the  way  about  the  bill 
and  the  waiters.  To  make  up  the  sum  of  their  mortification, 
they  passed  a  boat  where  all  the  company  were  in  the  best 
possible  spirits,  laughing  and  whooping  like  mad;  and  dis- 
covered these  jolly  companions  to  be  two  or  three  agree- 
able Vices,  who  had  put  themselves  under  the  management 
of  Good  Temper. 

"So  you  see,  Gertrude,  that  even  the  Virtues  may  fall  at 
loggerheads  with  each  other,  and  pass  a  very  sad  time  of  it, 
if  they  happen  to  be  of  opposite  dispositions,  and  have  for- 
gotten to  take  Good  Temper  with  them." 

"Ah,"  said  Gertrude,  "but  you  have  overloaded  your  boat; 
too  many  Virtues  might  contradict  one  another,  but  not  a 
few." 

"Voilh,  ce  que  veux  dire,"  said  Vane;  "but  listen  to  the 
sequel  of  my  tale,  which  now  takes  a  new  moral." 

At  the  end  of  the  voyage,  and  after  a  long,  sulky  silence. 
Prudence  said,  with  a  thoughtful  air,  "My  dear  friends,  I 
have  been  thinking  that  as  long  as  we  keep  so  entirely  to- 
gether, never  mixing  with  the  rest  of  the  world,  we  shall 
waste  our  lives  in  quarrelling  amongst  ourselves  and  run  the 


I 


THE  PILGRIMS   OF   THE   RIIIXE.  69 

risk  of  being  still  less  liked  and  sought  after  than  we  already 
are.  You  know  that  we  are  none  of  us  popular;  every  one  is 
quite  contented  to  see  us  represented  in  a  vaudeville,  or  de- 
scribed in  an  essay.  Charity,  indeed,  has  her  name  often 
taken  in  vain  at  a  bazaar  or  a  subscription;  and  the  miser  as 
often  talks  of  the  duty  he  owes  to  me,  when  he  sends  the 
stranger  from  his  door  or  his  grandson  to  jail:  but  still  we 
only  resemble  so  many  wild  beasts,  whom  everybody  likes  to 
see  but  nobody  cares  to  possess.  Now,  I  propose  that  we 
should  all  separate  and  take  up  our  abode  with  some  mortal 
or  other  for  a  year,  with  the  power  of  changing  at  the  end  of 
that  time  should  we  not  feel  ourselves  comfortable, —  that  is, 
should  we  not  find  that  we  do  all  the  good  we  intend;  let  us 
try  the  experiment,  and  on  this  day  twelvemonths  let  us  all 
meet  under  the  largest  oak  in  Windsor  Forest,  and  recount 
what  has  befallen  us."  Prudence  ceased,  as  she  always  does 
when  she  has  said  enough;  and,  delighted  at  the  project,  the 
Virtues  agreed  to  adopt  it  on  the  spot.  They  were  enchanted 
at  the  idea  of  setting  up  for  themselves,  and  each  not  doubt- 
ing his  or  her  success, —  for  Economy  in  her  heart  thought 
Generosity  no  Virtue  at  all,  and  Meekness  looked  on  Courage 
as  little  better  than  a  heathen. 

Generosity,  being  the  most  eager  and  active  of  all  the  Vir- 
tues, set  off  first  on  his  journey.  Justice  followed,  and  kept 
up  with  him,  though  at  a  more  even  pace.  Charity  never 
heard  a  sigh,  or  saw  a  squalid  face,  but  she  stayed  to  cheer 
and  console  the  sufferer, —  a  kindness  which  somewhat  re- 
tarded her  progress. 

Courage  espied  a  travelling  carriage,  with  a  man  and  his 
wife  in  it  quarrelling  most  conjugally,  and  he  civilly  begged 
he  might  be  permitted  to  occupy  the  vacant  seat  opposite  the 
lady.  Economy  still  lingered,  inquiring  for  the  cheapest 
inns.  Poor  Modesty  looked  round  and  sighed,  on  finding 
herself  so  near  to  London,  where  she  was  almost  wholly  un- 
known; but  resolved  to  bend  her  course  thither  for  two  rea- 
sons: first,  for  the  novelty  of  the  thing;  and,  secondly,  not 
liking  to  expose  herself  to  any  risks  by  a  journey  on  the  Con- 
tinent.    Prudence,  though  the  first  to  project,  was  the  last  to 


70  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

execute ;  and  therefore  resolved  to  remain  where  she  was  for 
that  night,  and  take  daylight  for  her  travels. 

The  year  rolled  on,  and  the  Virtues,  punctual  to  the  ap- 
pointment, met  under  the  oak-tree ;  they  all  came  nearly  at 
the  same  time,  excepting  Economy,  who  had  got  into  a  return 
post-chaise,  the  horses  to  which,  having  been  forty  miles  in 
the  course  of  the  morning,  had  foundered  by  the  way,  and  re- 
tarded her  journey  till  night  set  in.  The  Virtues  looked  sad 
and  sorrowful,  as  people  are  wont  to  do  after  a  long  and  fruit- 
less journey;  and,  somehow  or  other,  such  was  the  wearing 
effect  of  their  intercourse  with  the  world,  that  they  appeared 
wonderfully  diminished  in  size. 

"Ah,  my  dear  Generosity,"  said  Prudence,  with  a  sigh, 
"as  you  were  the  first  to  set  out  on  your  travels,  pray  let  us 
hear  your  adventures  first." 

"You  must  know,  my  dear  sisters,"  said  Generosity,  "that 
I  had  not  gone  many  miles  from  you  before  I  came  to  a  small 
country  town,  in  which  a  marching  regiment  was  quartered, 
and  at  an  open  window  I  beheld,  leaning  over  a  gentleman's 
chair,  the  most  beautiful  creature  imagination  ever  pictured; 
her  eyes  shone  out  like  two  suns  of  perfect  happiness,  and 
she  was  almost  cheerful  enough  to  have  passed  for  Good  Tem- 
per herself.  The  gentleman  over  whose  chair  she  leaned  was 
her  husband;  they  had  been  married  six  weeks;  he  was  a 
lieutenant  Math  £100  a  year  besides  his  pay.  Greatly  affected 
by  their  poverty,  I  instantly  determined,  without  a  second 
thought,  to  ensconce  myself  in  the  heart  of  this  charming 
girl.  During  the  first  hour  in  my  new  residence  I  made  many 
wise  reflections  such  as  —  that  Love  never  was  so  perfect  as 
when  accompanied  by  Poverty ;  what  a  vulgar  error  it  was  to 
call  the  unmarried  state  'Single  Blessedness;  '  how  wrong  it 
was  of  us  Virtues  never  to  have  tried  the  marriage  bond;  and 
what  a  falsehood  it  was  to  say  that  husbands  neglected  their 
wives,  for  never  was  there  anything  in  nature  so  devoted  as 
the  love  of  a  husband  —  six  weeks  married ! 

"The  next  morning,  before  breakfast,  as  the  charming 
Fanny  was  waiting  for  her  husband,  who  had  not  yet  finished 
his  toilet,   a  poor,   wretched-looking  object  appeared  at  the 


THE  PILGRIMS   OF  THE  RHINE.  71 

window,  tearing  her  hair  and  wringing  her  hands ;  her  hus- 
band had  that  morning  been  dragged  to  prison,  and  her  seven 
children  had  fought  for  the  last  mouldy  crust.  Promjjted  by 
me,  Fanny,  without  inquiring  further  into  the  matter,  drew 
from  her  silken  purse  a  five-pound  note,  and  gave  it  to  the 
beggar,  who  departed  more  amazed  than  grateful.  Soon  after, 
the  lieutenant  appeared.  '  What  the  devil,  another  bill ! ' 
muttered  he,  as  he  tore  the  yellow  wafer  from  a  large, 
square,  folded,  bluish  piece  of  paper.  'Oh,  ah!  confound  the 
fellow,  he  must  be  paid.  I  must  trouble  you,  Fanny,  for 
£15  to  pay  this  saddler's  bill.' 

"'Fifteen  pounds,  love?'  stammered  Fanny,  blushing. 

"'Yes,  dearest,  the  £15  I  gave  you  yesterday.' 

"'I  have  only  £10,'  said  Fanny,  hesitatingly;  'for  such 
a  poor,  wretched-looking  creature  was  here  just  now,  that 
I  was  obliged  to  give  her  £5.' 

'"Five  pounds?  good  Heavens!  '  exclaimed  the  astonished 
husband;  'I  shall  have  no  more  money  this  three  weeks.'  He 
frowned,  he  bit  his  lips,  nay,  he  even  wrung  his  hands,  and 
walked  up  and  down  the  room;  worse  still,  he  broke  forth 
with  — '  Surely,  madam,  you  did  not  suppose,  when  you  mar- 
ried a  lieutenant  in  a  marching  regiment,  that  he  could  afford 
to  indulge  in  the  whim  of  giving  £5  to  every  mendicant  who 
held  out  her  hand  to  you?  You  did  not,  I  say,  madam, 
imagine '  —  but  the  bridegroom  was  interrupted  by  the  con- 
vulsive sobs  of  his  wife :  it  was  their  first  quarrel,  they  were 
but  six  weeks  married;  he  looked  at  her  for  one  moment 
sternly,  the  next  he  was  at  her  feet.  'Forgive  me,  dearest 
Fanny, — forgive  me,  for  I  cannot  forgive  myself.  I  was  too 
great  a  wretch  to  say  what  I  did;  and  do  believe,  my  own 
Fanny,  that  while  I  may  be  too  poor  to  indulge  you  in  it,  I 
do  from  my  heart  admire  so  noble,  so  disinterested,  a  gen- 
erosity.' Xot  a  little  proud  did  I  feel  to  have  been  the  cause 
of  this  exemplary  husband's  admiration  for  his  amiable  wife, 
and  sincerely  did  I  rejoice  at  having  taken  up  my  abode  with 
these  poor  people.  But  not  to  tire  you,  my  dear  sisters,  with 
the  minutiae  of  detail,  I  shall  briefly  say  that  things  did  not 
long   remain   in   this   delightful   position;    for  before   many 


72  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

months  had  elapsed,  poor  Fanny  had  to  bear  with  her  hus- 
band's increased  and  more  frequent  storms  of  passion,  un- 
foUowed  by  any  halcyon  and  honeymoon  suings  for  forgive- 
ness: for  at  my  instigation  every  shilling  went;  and  when 
there  were  no  more  to  go,  her  trinkets  and  even  her  clothes 
followed.  The  lieutenant  became  a  complete  brute,  and  even 
allowed  his  unbridled  tongue  to  call  me  —  me,  sisters,  me  /  — 
'heartless  Extravagance.'  His  despicable  brother-officers  and 
their  gossiping  wives  were  no  better;  for  they  did  nothing 
but  animadvert  upon  my  Fanny's  ostentation  and  absurdity, 
for  by  such  names  had  they  the  impertinence  to  call  me. 
Thus  grieved  to  the  soul  to  find  myself  the  cause  of  all  poor 
Fanny's  misfortunes,  I  resolved  at  the  end  of  the  year  to  leave 
her,  being  thoroughly  convinced  that,  however  amiable  and 
praiseworthy  I  might  be  in  myself,  I  was  totally  unfit  to  be 
bosom  friend  and  adviser  to  the  wife  of  a  lieutenant  in  a 
marching  regiment,  with  only  £100  a  year  besides  his  pay." 

The  Virtues  groaned  their  sympathy  with  the  unfortunate 
Fanny;  and  Prudence,  turning  to  Justice,  said,  "I  long  to 
hear  what  you  have  been  doing,  for  I  am  certain  you  cannot 
have  occasioned  harm  to  any  one." 

Justice  shook  her  head  and  said:  "Alas!  I  find  that  there 
are  times  and  places  when  even  I  do  better  not  to  appear,  as 
a  short  account  of  my  adventures  will  prove  to  you.  No 
sooner  had  I  left  you  than  I  instantly  repaired  to  India,  and 
took  up  my  abode  with  a  Brahmin,  I  was  much  shocked  by 
the  dreadful  inequalities  of  condition  that  reigned  in  the  sev- 
eral castes,  and  I  longed  to  relieve  the  poor  Pariah  from  his 
ignominious  destiny;  accordingly  I  set  seriously  to  work  on 
reform.  I  insisted  upon  the  iniquity  of  abandoning  men 
from  their  birth  to  an  irremediable  state  of  contempt,  from 
which  no  virtue  could  exalt  them.  The  Brahmins  looked 
upon  my  Brahmin  with  ineffable  horror.  They  called  me  the 
most  wicked  of  vices;  they  saw  no  distinction  between  Justice 
and  Atheism.  I  uprooted  their  society  —  that  was  sufficient 
crime.  But  the  worst  was,  that  the  Pariahs  themselves  re- 
garded me  with  suspicion;  they  thought  it  unnatural  in  a 
Brahmin  to  care  for  a  Pariah!     And  one  called  me  'Madness,' 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE   RIIIXE.  73 

another,  'Ambition,'  and  a  third,  'The  Desire  to  innovate.' 
My  poor  Brahmin  led  a  miserable  life  of  it;  when  one  day, 
after  observing,  at  my  dictation,  that  he  thought  a  Pariah's 
life  as  much  entitled  to  respect  as  a  cow's,  he  was  hurried 
away  by  the  priests  and  secretly  broiled  on  the  altar  as  a  fit- 
ting reward  for  his  sacrilege.  I  fled  hither  in  great  tribula- 
tion, persuaded  that  in  some  countries  even  Justice  may  do 
harm." 

"As  for  me,"  said  Charity,  not  waiting  to  be  asked,  "I 
grieve  to  say  that  I  was  silly  enough  to  take  up  my  abode 
with  an  old  lady  in  Dublin,  who  never  knew  what  discretion 
was,  and  always  acted  from  impulse ;  my  instigation  was  irre- 
sistible, and  the  money  she  gave  in  her  drives  through  the 
suburbs  of  Dublin  was  so  lavishly  spent  that  it  kept  all  the 
rascals  of  the  city  in  idleness  and  whiskey.  I  found,  to  my 
great  horror,  that  I  was  a  main  cause  of  a  terrible  epidemic, 
and  that  to  give  alms  without  discretion  was  to  spread  pov- 
erty without  help.  I  left  the  city  when  my  year  was  out, 
and  as  ill-luck  would  have  it,  just  at  the  time  when  I  was 
most  wanted." 

"And  oh,"  cried  Hospitality,  "I  went  to  Ireland  also.  I 
fixed  my  abode  with  a  squireen;  I  ruined  him  in  a  year,  and 
only  left  him  because  he  had  no  longer  a  hovel  to  keep 
me  in." 

"As  for  myself,"  said  Temperance,  "I  entered  the  breast 
of  an  English  legislator,  and  he  brought  in  a  bill  against  ale- 
houses; the  consequence  was,  that  the  labourers  took  to  gin; 
and  I  have  been  forced  to  confess  that  Temperance  may  be 
too  zealous  when  she  dictates  too  vehemently  to  others." 

"Well,"  said  Courage,  keeping  more  in  the  background 
than  he  had  ever  done  before,  and  looking  rather  ashamed  of 
himself,  "that  travelling  carriage  I  got  into  belonged  to  a 
German  general  and  his  wife,  who  were  returning  to  their 
own  country.  Growing  very  cold  as  we  proceeded,  she  wrapped 
me  up  in  a  polonaise;  but  the  cold  increasing,  I  inadvertently 
crept  into  her  bosom.  Once  there  I  could  not  get  out,  and 
from  thenceforward  the  poor  general  had  considerably  the 
worst  of  it.     She  became  so  provoking  that  I  wondered  how 


74  THE  PILGRmS  OF  THE  EKINE. 

lie  could  refrain  from  an  explosion.  To  do  him  justice,  he 
did  at  last  threaten  to  get  out  of  the  carriage ;  upon  which, 
roused  by  me,  she  collared  him  —  and  conquered.  When  he 
got  to  his  own  district,  things  grew  worse,  for  if  any  aide-de- 
camp oifeuded  her  she  insisted  that  he  might  be  publicly  re- 
primanded; and  should  the  poor  general  refuse  she  would 
with  her  own  hands  confer  a  caning  upon  the  delinquent. 
The  additional  force  she  had  gained  in  me  was  too  much  odds 
against  the  poor  general,  and  he  died  of  a  broken  heart,  six 
months  after  my  liaison  with  his  wife.  She  after  this  be- 
came so  dreaded  and  detested,  that  a  conspiracy  was  formed 
to  poison  her;  this  daunted  even  me,  so  I  left  her  without  de- 
lay,—  et  me  void  I  " 

"Humph,"  said  Meekness,  with  an  air  of  triumph,  "I,  at 
least,  have  been  more  successful  than  you.  On  seeing  much 
in  the  papers  of  the  cruelties  practised  by  the  Turks  on  the 
Greeks,  I  thought  my  presence  would  enable  the  poor  sufferers 
to  bear  their  misfortunes  calmly.  I  went  to  Greece,  then,  at 
a  moment  when  a  well-planned  and  practicable  scheme  of 
emancipating  themselves  from  the  Turkish  yoke  was  arousing 
their  youth.  Without  confining  myself  to  one  individual,  I 
flitted  from  breast  to  breast;  I  meekened  the  whole  nation; 
my  remonstrances  against  the  insurrection  succeeded,  and  I 
had  the  satisfaction  of  leaving  a  whole  people  ready  to  be 
killed  or  strangled  with  the  most  Christian  resignation  in  the 
world." 

The  Virtues,  who  had  been  a  little  cheered  by  the  opening 
self-complacence  of  Meekness,  would  not,  to  her  great  aston- 
ishment, allow  that  she  had  succeeded  a  whit  more  happily 
than  her  sisters,  and  called  next  upon  Modesty  for  her 
confession. 

"  You  know, "  said  that  amiable  young  lady,  "  that  I  went 
to  London  in  search  of  a  situation.  I  spent  three  months  of 
the  twelve  in  going  from  house  to  house,  but  I  could  not  get  a 
single  person  to  receive  me.  The  ladies  declared  that  they 
never  saw  so  old-fashioned  a  gawkey,  and  civilly  recom- 
mended me  to  their  abigails;  the  abigails  turned  me  round 
with  a  stare,  and  then  pushed  me  down  to  the  kitchen  and  the 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF   THE   RHINE.  75 

fat  scuUion-uiaiils,  who  assured  me  that,  'in  the  respectable 
families  they  had  the  honour  to  live  in,  they  had  never  even 
heard  of  my  name.'  One  young  housemaid,  just  from  the 
country,  did  indeed  receive  me  with  some  sort  of  civility;  but 
she  very  soon  lost  me  in  the  servants'  hall.  I  now  took  refuge 
with  the  other  sex,  as  the  least  uncourteous.  I  was  fortunate 
enough  to  find  a  young  gentleman  of  remarkable  talents,  who 
welcomed  me  with  open  arms.  He  was  full  of  learning,  gen- 
tleness, and  honesty.  I  had  only  one  rival, —  Ambition.  We 
both  contended  for  an  absolute  empire  over  him.  Whatever 
Ambition  suggested,  I  damped.  Did  Ambition  urge  him  to 
begin  a  book,  I  persuaded  him  it  was  not  worth  publication. 
Did  he  get  up,  full  of  knowledge,  and  instigated  by  my  rival, 
to  make  a  speech  (for  he  was  in  parliament),  I  shocked  him 
with  the  sense  of  his  assurance,  I  made  his  voice  droop  and 
his  accents  falter.  At  last,  with  an  indignant  sigh,  my  rival 
left  him;  he  retired  into  the  country,  took  orders,  and  re- 
nounced a  career  he  had  fondly  hoped  would  be  serviceable  to 
others;  but  finding  I  did  not  suffice  for  his  happiness,  and 
piqued  at  his  melancholy,  I  left  him  before  the  end  of  the 
year,  and  he  has  since  taken  to  drinking!" 

The  eyes  of  the  Virtues  were  all  turned  to  Prudence.  She 
was  their  last  hope.  "I  am  just  where  I  set  out,"  said  that 
discreet  Virtue;  "I  have  done  neither  good  nor  harm.  To 
avoid  temptation  I  went  and  lived  with  a  hermit  to  whom  I 
soon  found  that  I  could  be  of  no  use  beyond  warning  him  not 
to  overboil  his  peas  and  lentils,  not  to  leave  his  door  open 
when  a  storm  threatened,  and  not  to  fill  his  pitcher  too  full  at 
the  neighbouring  spring.  I  am  thus  the  only  one  of  you  that 
never  did  harm ;  but  only  because  I  am  the  only  one  of  you 
that  never  had  an  opportunity  of  doing  it!  In  a  word,"  con- 
tinued Prudence,  thoughtfully, —  "in  a  word,  my  friends,  cir- 
cumstances are  necessary  to  the  Virtues  themselves.  Had, 
for  instance.  Economy  changed  with  Generosity,  and  gone  to 
the  poor  lieutenant's  wife,  and  had  I  lodged  with  the  Irish 
squireen  instead  of  Hospitality,  what  misfortunes  would  have 
been  saved  to  both !  Alas !  I  perceive  we  lose  all  our  efficacy 
when  we  are  misplaced}  and  then,  though  in  reality  Virtues, 


76  THE   PILGRIMS   OF   THE   RHIi^E. 

we  operate  as  Vices.  Circumstances  must  be  favourable  to 
our  exertions,  and  harmonious  with  our  nature ;  and  we  lose 
our  very  divinity  unless  Wisdom  direct  our  footsteps  to  the 
home  we  should  inhabit  and  the  dispositions  we  should 
govern." 

The  story  was  ended,  and  the  travellers  began  to  dispute 
about  its  mora,!.     Here  let  us  leave  them. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

COLOGNE.  —  THE  TRACES  OF  THE  ROMAN  YOKE.  —  THE  CHURCH 
OF  ST.  MARIA.  TREVYLYAn's  REFLECTIOXS  OX  THE  MO- 
NASTIC    LIFE.  THE     TOMB     OF     THE     THREE     KINGS.  AN 

EVENING   EXCURSION   ON   THE   RHINE. 

EoME  —  magnificent  Eome!  wherever  the  pilgrim  wends, 
the  traces  of  thy  dominion  greet  his  eyes.  Still  in  the  heart 
of  the  bold  German  race  is  graven  the  print  of  the  eagle's 
claws;  and  amidst  the  haunted  regions  of  the  Rhine  we  pause 
to  wonder  at  the  great  monuments  of  the  Italian  yoke. 

At  Cologne  our  travellers  rested  for  some  days.  They  were 
in  the  city  to  which  the  camp  of  Marcus  Agrippa  had  given 
birth;  that  spot  had  resounded  with  the  armed  tread  of  the 
legions  of  Trajan.  In  that  city,  Vitellius,  Sylvanus,  were 
proclaimed  emperors.  By  that  church  did  the  latter  receive 
his  death. 

As  they  passed  round  the  door  they  saw  some  peasants 
loitering  on  the  sacred  ground;  and  when  they  noted  the 
delicate  cheek  of  Gertrude  they  uttered  their  salutations  with 
more  than  common  respect.  Where  they  then  were  the  build- 
ing swept  round  in  a  circular  form ;  and  at  its  base  it  is  sup- 
posed by  tradition  to  retain  something  of  the  ancient  Roman 
masonry.  Just  before  them  rose  the  spire  of  a  plain  and  un- 
adorned church,  singularly  contrasting  the  pomp  of  the  old 
with  the  simplicity  of  the  innovating  creed. 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF   THE   RHINE.  77 

The  church  of  St.  Maria  occupies  the  site  of  the  Roman 
Capitol,  and  the  place  retains  the  Roman  name;  and  still 
something  in  the  aspect  of  the  people  betrays  the  hereditary- 
blood. 

Gertrude,  whose  nature  was  strongly  impressed  with  the 
venerating  character,  was  fond  of  visiting  the  old  Gothic 
churches,  which,  with  so  eloquent  a  moral,  unite  the  living 
with  the  dead. 

"  Pause  for  a  moment, "  said  Trevylyan,  before  they  entered 
the  church  of  St.  Mary.  "  What  recollections  crowd  upon  us ! 
On  the  site  of  the  Roman  Capitol  a  Christian  church  and  a 
convent  are  erected!  By  whom?  The  mother  of  Charles 
Martel, —  the  Conqueror  of  the  Saracen,  the  arch-hero  of 
Christendom  itself!  And  to  these  scenes  and  calm  retreats, 
to  the  cloisters  of  the  convent  once  belonging  to  this  church, 
fled  the  bruised  spirit  of  a  royal  sufferer, —  the  victim  of 
Richelieu, —  the  unfortunate  and  ambitious  Mary  de  Medicis. 
Alas !  the  cell  and  the  convent  are  but  a  vain  emblem  of  that 
desire  to  fly  to  God  which  belongs  to  Distress;  the  solitude 
soothes,  but  the  monotony  recalls,  regret.  And  for  my  own 
part  in  my  frequent  tours  through  Catholic  countries,  I  never 
saw  the  still  walls  in  which  monastic  vanity  hoped  to  shut 
out  the  world,  but  a  melancholy  came  over  me !  What  hearts 
at  war  with  themselves!  what  unceasing  regrets!  what  pin- 
ings  after  the  past !  what  long  and  beautiful  years  devoted  to 
a  moral  grave,  by  a  momentary  rashness,  an  impulse,  a  dis- 
appointment! But  in  these  churches  the  lesson  is  more  im- 
pressive and  less  sad.  The  weary  heart  has  ceased  to  ache; 
the  burning  pulses  are  still;  the  troubled  spirit  has  flown  to 
the  only  rest  which  is  not  a  deceit.  Power  and  love,  hope 
and  fear,  avarice,  ambition, —  they  are  quenched  at  last! 
Death  is  the  only  monastery,  the  tomb  is  the  only  cell." 

"Your  passion  is  ever  for  active  life,"  said  Gertrude.  "You 
allow  no  charm  to  solitude,  and  contemplation  to  you  seems 
torture.  If  any  great  sorrow  ever  come  upon  you,  you  will 
never  retire  to  seclusion  as  its  balm.  You  will  plunge  into 
the  world,  and  lose  your  individual  existence  in  the  universal 
rush  of  life." 


78  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

"  Ah,  talk  not  of  sorrow !  "  said  Trevyly an,  wildly.     "  Let 
us  enter  the  church." 

They  went  afterwards  to  the  celebrated  cathedral,  which  is 
considered  one  of  the  noblest  of  the  architectural  triumphs  of 
Germany;  but  it  is  yet  more  worthy  of  notice  from  the  Pil- 
grim of  Romance  than  the  searcher  after  antiquity,  for  here, 
behind  the  grand  altar,  is  the  Tomb  of  the  Three  Kings  of 
Cologne, —  the  three  worshippers  whom  tradition  humbled  to 
our  Saviour.  Legend  is  rife  with  a  thousand  tales  of  the 
relics  of  this  tomb.  The  Three  Kings  of  Cologne  are  the 
tutelary  names  of  that  golden  superstition  which  has  often 
more  votaries  than  the  religion  itself  from  which  it  springs : 
and  to  Gertrude  the  simple  story  of  Lucille  sufficed  to  make 
her  for  the  moment  credulous  of  the  sanctitj''  of  the  spot. 
Behind  the  tomb  three  Gothic  windows  cast  their  "dim,  re- 
ligious light "  over  the  tessellated  pavement  and  along  the 
Ionic  pillars.  They  found  some  of  the  more  credulous  be- 
lievers in  the  authenticity  of  the  relics  kneeling  before  the 
tomb,  and  they  arrested  their  steps,  fearful  to  disturb  the 
superstition  which  is  never  without  something  of  sanctity 
when  contented  with  prayer  and  forgetful  of  persecution. 
The  bones  of  the  Magi  are  still  supposed  to  consecrate  the 
tomb,  and  on  the  higher  part  of  the  monument  the  artist  has 
delineated  their  adoration  to  the  infant  Saviour. 

That  evening  came  on  with  a  still  and  tranquil  beauty,  and 
as  the  sun  hastened  to  its  close  they  launched  their  boat  for 
an  hour  or  two's  excursion  upon  the  Rhine.  Gertrude  was  in 
that  happy  mood  when  the  quiet  of  nature  is  enjo3'ed  like  a 
bath  for  the  soul,  and  the  presence  of  him  she  so  idolized 
deepened  that  stillness  into  a  more  delicious  and  subduing 
calm.  Little  did  she  dream  as  the  boat  glided  over  the 
water,  and  the  towers  of  Cologne  rose  in  the  blue  air  of  even- 
ing, how  few  were  those  hours  that  divided  her  from  the 
tomb!  But,  in  looking  back  to  the  life  of  one  we  have  loved, 
how  dear  is  the  thought  that  the  latter  days  were  the  days  of 
light,  that  the  cloud  never  chilled  the  beauty  of  the  setting 
sun,  and  that  if  the  years  of  existence  Avere  brief,  all  that  ex- 
istence has  most  tender,  most  sacred,  was  crowded  into  that 


THE   PILGRIMS   OF   THE  RIIIXE.  79 

space!  Xothing  dark,  then,  or  bitter,  rests  with  our  remem- 
brance of  the  lost :  we  are  the  mourners,  but  pity  is  not  for 
the  mourned,  —  our  grief  is  purely  selfish ;  when  we  turn  to  its 
object,  the  hues  of  happiness  are  round  it,  and  that  very  love 
which  is  the  parent  of  our  woe  was  the  consolation,  the 
triumph,  of  the  departed! 

The  majestic  Ehine  was  calm  as  a  lake ;  the  splashing  of 
the  oar  only  broke  the  stillness,  and  after  a  long  pause  in 
their  conversation,  Gertrude,  putting  her  hand  on  Trevylyan's 
arm,  reminded  him  of  a  promised  story :  for  he  too  had  moods 
of  abstraction,  from  which,  in  her  turn,  she  loved  to  lure  him ; 
and  his  voice  to  her  had  become  a  sort  of  want. 

"  Let  it  be, "  said  she,  "  a  tale  suited  to  the  hour ;  no  fierce 
tradition,  —  nay,  no  grotesque  fable,  but  of  the  tenderer  dye 
of  superstition.  Let  it  be  of  love,  of  woman's  love, —  of  the 
love  that  defies  the  grave :  for  surely  even  after  death  it  lives ; 
and  heaven  would  scarcely  be  heaven  if  memory  were  banished 
from  its  blessings." 

"I  recollect,"  said  Trevylyan,  after  a  slight  pause,  "a  short 
German  legend,  the  simplicity  of  Avhich  touched  me  much 
when  I  heard  it;  but,"  added  he,  with  a  slight  smile,  "so 
much  more  faithful  appears  in  the  legend  the  love  of  the 
woman  than  that  of  the  man,  that  /  at  least  ought  scarcely 
to  recite  it." 

"Xay,"  said  Gertrude,  tenderly,  "the  fault  of  the  inconstant 
only  heightens  our  gratitude  to  the  faithful." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE   SOUL   IX   purgatory;     OR   LOVE    STRONGER    THAN    DEATH. 

The  angels  strimg  their  harps  in  heaven,  and  their  music 
went  up  like  a  stream  of  odours  to  the  pavilions  of  the  Most 
High ;  but  the  harp  of  Seralim  was  sweeter  than  that  of  his 


80  THE  PILGRIMS  OF   THE  RHINE. 

fellows,  and  the  Voice  of  the  Invisible  One  (for  the  angels 
themselves  know  not  the  glories  of  Jehovah  —  only  far  in  the 
depths  of  heaven  they  see  one  Unsleeping  Eye  watching  for- 
ever over  Creation)  was  heard  saying, — 

"  Ask  a  gift  for  the  love  that  burns  in  thy  song,  and  it  shall 
be  given  thee."     And  Seralim  answered, — 

"There  is  in  that  place  which  men  call  Purgatory,  and 
which  is  the  escape  from  hell,  but  the  painful  porch  of  heaven, 
many  souls  that  adore  Thee,  and  yet  are  punished  justly  for 
their  sins;  grant  me  the  boon  to  visit  them  at  times,  and  sol- 
ace their  suffering  by  the  hymns  of  the  harp  that  is  conse- 
crated to  Thee!" 

And  the  Voice  answered, — 

"Thy  prayer  is  heard,  0  gentlest  of  the  angels!  and  it 
seems  good  to  Him  who  chastises  but  from  love.  Go !  Thou 
hast  thy  will." 

Then  the  angel  sang  the  praises  of  God ;  and  when  the  song 
was  done  he  rose  from  his  azure  throne  at  the  right  hand  of 
Gabriel,  and,  spreading  his  rainbow  wings,  he  flew  to  that 
melancholy  orb  which,  nearest  to  earth,  echoes  with  the 
shrieks  of  souls  that  by  torture  become  pure.  There  the  un- 
happy ones  see  from  afar  the  bright  courts  they  are  hereafter 
to  obtain,  and  the  shapes  of  glorious  beings,  who,  fresh  from 
the  Fountains  of  Immortality,  walk  amidst  the  gardens  of 
Paradise,  and  feel  that  their  happiness  hath  no  morrow ;  and 
this  thought  consoles  amidst  their  torments,  and  makes  the 
true  difference  between  Purgatory  and  Hell. 

Then  the  angel  folded  his  wings,  and  entering  the  crystal 
gates,  sat  down  upon  a  blasted  rock  and  struck  his  divine 
lyre,  and  a  peace  fell  over  the  wretched;  the  demon  ceased 
to  torture  and  the  victim  to  wail.  As  sleep  to  the  mourners 
of  earth  was  the  song  of  the  angel  to  the  souls  of  the  purify- 
ing star :  one  only  voice  amidst  the  general  stillness  seemed 
not  lulled  by  the  angel ;  it  was  the  voice  of  a  woman,  and  it 
continued  to  cry  out  with  a  sharp  cry, — 

"Oh,  Adenheim,  Adenheim!  mourn  not  for  the  lost!  " 

The  angel  struck  chord  after  chord,  till  his  most  skilful 
melodies  were  exhausted ;  but  still  the  solitary  voice,  unheed- 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  81 

ing  —  unconscious  of  —  the  sweetest  harp  of  the  angel  choir, 
cried  out, — 

"Oh,  Adenheim,  Adenheim!  mourn  not  for  the  lost!  " 

Then  Seralim's  interest  was  aroused,  and  approaching  the 
spot  whence  the  voice  came,  he  saw  the  spirit  of  a  young  and 
beautiful  girl  chained  to  a  rock,  and  the  demons  lying  idly  by. 
And  Seralim  said  to  the  demons,  "Doth  the  song  lull  ye  thus 
to  rest?  " 

And  they  answered,  "Her  care  for  another  is  bitterer  than 
all  our  torments;  therefore  are  we  idle." 

Then  the  angel  approached  the  spirit,  and  said  in  a  voice 
which  stilled  her  cry  —  for  in  what  state  do  we  outlive  sym- 
pathy?—  "Wherefore,  0  daughter  of  earth,  wherefore  wailest 
thou  with  the  same  plaintive  wail;  and  why  doth  the  harp 
that  soothes  the  most  guilty  of  thy  companions  fail  in  its 
melody  with  thee?" 

"0  radiant  stranger,"  answered  the  poor  spirit,  "thou 
speakest  to  one  who  on  earth  loved  God's  creature  more  than 
God;  therefore  is  she  thus  justly  sentenced.  But  I  know 
that  my  poor  Adenheim  mourns  ceaselessly  for  me,  and  the 
thought  of  his  sorrow  is  more  intolerable  to  me  than  all  that 
the  demons  can  inflict." 

"And  how  knowest  thou  that  he  laments  thee?  "  asked  the 
angel. 

"Because  I  know  with  what  agony  I  should  have  mourned 
for  Aiw,"  replied  the  spirit,  simply. 

The  divine  nature  of  the  angel  was  touched ;  for  love  is  the 
nature  of  the  sons  of  heaven.  "And  how,"  said  he,  "can  I 
minister  to  thy  sorrow?" 

A  transport  seemed  to  agitate  the  spirit,  and  she  lifted  up 
her  mistlike  and  impalpable  arms,  and  cried, — 

"Give  me  —  oh,  give  me  to  return  to  earth,  but  for  one  little 
hour,  that  I  may  visit  my  Adenheim;  and  that,  concealing 
from  him  my  present  sufferings,  I  may  comfort  him  in  his 
own." 

"  Alas !  "  said  the  angel,  turning  away  his  eyes,  —  for  angels 
may  not  weep  in  the  sight  of  others, —  "I  could,  indeed,  grant 
thee  this  boon,  but  thou  knowest  not  the  penalty.     For  the 

6 


82  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

souls  in  Purgatory  may  return  to  Earth,  but  heavy  is  the  sen- 
tence that  awaits  their  return.  In  a  word,  for  one  hour  on 
earth  thou  must  add  a  thousand  years  to  the  torture  of  thy 
confinement  here !  " 

"Is  that  all?"  cried  the  spirit.  "Willingly  then  will  I 
brave  the  doom.  Ah,  surely  they  love  not  in  heaven,  or  thou 
wouldst  know,  0  Celestial  Visitant,  that  one  hour  of  consola- 
tion to  the  one  we  love  is  worth  a  thousand  ages  of  torture  to 
ourselves!  Let  me  comfort  and  convince  my  Adenheim;  no 
matter  what  becomes  of  me." 

Then  the  angel  looked  on  high,  and  he  saw  in  far  distant 
regions,  which  in  that  orb  none  else  could  discern,  the  rays 
that  parted  from  the  all-guarding  Eye;  and  heard  the  Voice 
of  the  Eternal  One  bidding  him  act  as  his  pity  whispered. 
He  looked  on  the  spirit,  and  her  shadowy  arms  stretched 
pleadingly  towards  him ;  he  uttered  the  word  that  loosens  the 
bars  of  the  gate  of  Purgatory ;  and  lo,  the  spirit  had  re-entered 
the  human  world. 

It  was  night  in  the  halls  of  the  lord  of  Adenheim,  and  he 
sat  at  the  head  of  his  glittering  board.  Loud  and  long  was 
the  laugh,  and  merry  the  jest  that  echoed  round;  and  the 
laugh  and  the  jest  of  the  lord  of  Adenheim  were  louder  and 
merrier  than  all.  And  by  his  right  side  sat  a  beautiful  lad}'; 
and  ever  and  anon  he  turned  from  others  to  whisper  soft 
vows  in  her  ear. 

"And  oh,"  said  the  bright  dame  of  Falkenberg,  "th}^  words 
what  ladye  can  believe?  Didst  thou  not  utter  the  same 
oaths,  and  promise  the  same  love,  to  Ida,  the  fair  daughter  of 
Loden,  and  now  but  three  little  months  have  closed  upon  her 
grave?  " 

"By  my  halidom,"  quoth  the  young  lord  of  Adenheim, 
"  thou  dost  thy  beauty  marvellous  injustice.  Ida !  Nay,  thou 
mockest  me ;  /  love  the  daughter  of  Loden !  Why,  how  then 
should  I  be  worthy  thee?  A  few  gay  words,  a  few  j^assing 
smiles, —  behold  all  the  love  Adenheim  ever  bore  to  Ida. 
Was  it  my  fault  if  the  poor  fool  misconstrued  such  common 
courtesy?    Nay,  dearest  lady,  this  heart  is  virgin  to  thee." 

"And  what!  "  said  the  lady  of  Falkenberg,  as  she  suffered 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHIXE.  83 

the  arm  of  Adenheim  to  encircle  her  slender  waist,  "didst 
thou  not  grieve  for  her  loss?" 

"Why,  verily,  yes,  for  the  first  week;  but  in  thy  bright 
eyes  I  found  ready  consolation." 

At  this  moment,  the  lord  of  Adenheim  thought  he  heard  a 
deep  sigh  behind  him;  he  turned,  but  saw  nothing,  save  a 
slight  mist  that  gradually  faded  away,  and  vanished  in  the 
distance.    Where  was  the  necessity  for  Ida  to  reveal  herself? 

"And  thou  didst  not,  then,  do  thine  errand  to  thy  lover?" 
said  Seralim,  as  the  spirit  of  the  wronged  Ida  returned  to 
Purgatory. 

"Bid  the  demons  recommence  their  torture,"  was  poor  Ida's 
answer. 

"  And  was  it  for  this  that  thou  added  a  thousand  years  to 
thy  doom?" 

"Alas!  "  answered  Ida,  "after  the  single  hour  I  have  en- 
dured on  Earth,  there  seems  to  be  but  little  terrible  in  a 
thousand  fresh  years  of  Purgatory !  "  ^ 

"What!  is  the  story  ended?  "  asked  Gertrude. 

"Yes." 

"Nay,  surely  the  thousand  years  were  not  added  to  poor 
Ida's  doom;  and  Seralim  bore  her  back  with  him  to 
Heaven?  " 

"The  legend  saith  no  more.  The  writer  was  contented  to 
show  us  the  perpetuity  of  woman's  love  —  " 

"And  its  reward,"  added  Vane. 

"It  was  not  /who  drew  that  last  conclusion,  Albert,"  whis- 
pered Gertrude. 

1  This  story  is  principally  borrowed  from  a  foreign  soil.  It  seemed  to  the 
author  worthy  of  being  transferred  to  an  English  one,  although  he  fears  that 
much  of  its  singular  beauty  in  the  original  has  been  lost  by  the  way. 


84  THE  PILGRBIS  OF   THE  RHINE. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

THE   SCENERY    OF   THE   RHIXE   ANALOGOUS    TO    THE    GERMAN" 
LITERARY    GENIUS.  THE    DRACHENFELS. 

On  leaving  Cologne,  the  stream  winds  round  among  banks 
that  do  not  yet  fulfil  the  promise  of  the  Rhine;  but  they  in- 
crease in  interest  as  you  leave  Surdt  and  Godorf .  The  pecu- 
liar character  of  the  river  does  not,  however,  really  appear, 
until  by  degrees  the  Seven  Mountains,  and  "The  castled 
Crag  of  Drachenfels  "  above  them  all,  break  upon  the  eye. 
Around  Kieder  Cassel  and  Rheidt  the  vines  lie  thick  and  clus- 
tering; and,  by  the  shore,  you  see  from  place  to  place  the 
islands  stretching  their  green  length  along,  and  breaking  the 
exulting  tide.  Village  rises  upon  village,  and  viewed  from 
the  distance  as  you  sail,  the  pastoral  errors  that  enamoured  us 
of  the  village  life  crowd  thick  and  fast  upon  us.  So  still  do 
these  hamlets  seem,  so  sheltered  from  the  passions  of  the 
world,  —  as  if  the  passions  were  not  like  winds,  only  felt 
where  they  breathe,  and  invisible  save  by  their  effects!  Leap- 
ing into  the  broad  bosom  of  the  Rhine  come  many  a  stream 
and  rivulet  upon  either  side.  Spire  upon  spire  rises  and 
sinks  as  you  sail  on.  Mountain  and  city,  the  solitary  island, 
the  castled  steep,  like  the  dreams  of  ambition,  suddenly  ap- 
pear, proudly  swell,  and  dimly  fade  away. 

"You  begin  now,"  said  Trevylyan,  "to  understand  the 
character  of  the  German  literature.  The  Rhine  is  an  emblem 
of  its  luxuriance,  its  fertility,  its  romance.  The  best  com- 
mentary to  the  German  genius  is  a  visit  to  the  German  scen- 
ery. The  mighty  gloom  of  the  Hartz,  the  feudal  towers  that 
look  over  vines  and  deep  valleys  on  the  legendary  Rhine;  the 
gigantic  remains  of  antique  power,  profusely  scattered  over 
plain,  mount,  and  forest;  the  thousand  mixed  recollections 
that  hallow  the  ground;    the   stately   Roman,    the   stalwart 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  85 

Goth,  the  chivalry  of  the  feudal  age,  and  the  dim  brotherhood 
of  the  ideal  world,  have  here  alike  their  record  and  their 
remembrance.  And  over  such  scenes  wanders  the  young  Ger- 
man student.  Instead  of  the  pomp  and  luxury  of  the  English 
traveller,  the  thousand  devices  to  cheat  the  way,  he  has  but 
his  volume  in  his  hand,  his  knapsack  at  his  back.  From  such 
scenes  he  draws  and  hives  all  that  various  store  which  after 
years  ripen  to  invention.  Hence  the  florid  mixture  of  the 
German  muse,  —  the  classic,  the  romantic,  the  contemplative, 
the  philosophic,  and  the  superstitious;  each  the  result  of 
actual  meditation  over  different  scenes ;  each  the  produce  of 
separate  but  confused  recollections.  As  the  Ehine  flows,  so 
flows  the  national  genius,  by  mountain  and  valley,  the  wildest 
solitude,  the  sudden  spires  of  ancient  cities,  the  mouldered 
castle,  the  stately  monastery,  the  humble  cot, —  grandeur  and 
homeliness,  history  and  superstition,  truth  and  fable,  suc- 
ceeding one  another  so  as  to  blend  into  a  whole. 

"But,"  added  Trevylyan,  a  moment  afterwards,  "the  Ideal 
is  passing  slowly  away  from  the  German  mind;  a  spirit  for 
the  more  active  and  the  more  material  literature  is  spring- 
ing up  amongst  them.  The  revolution  of  mind  gathers  on, 
preceding  stormy  events;  and  the  memories  that  led  their 
grandsires  to  contemplate  will  urge  the  youth  of  the  next 
generation  to  dare  and  to  act."  ^ 

Thus  conversing,  they  continued  their  voyage,  with  a  fair 
wave  and  beneath  a  lucid  sky. 

The  vessel  now  glided  beside  the  Seven  Mountains  and  the 
Drachenfels. 

The  sun,  slowly  setting,  cast  his  yellow  beams  over  the 
smooth  waters.  At  the  foot  of  the  mountains  lay  a  village 
deeply  sequestered  in  shade;  and  above,  the  Kuin  of  the 
Drachenfels  caught  the  richest  beams  of  the  sun.  Yet  thus 
alone,  though  lofty,  the  ray  cheered  not  the  gloom  that  hung 
over  the  giant  rock :  it  stood  on  high,  like  some  great  name 
on  which  the  light  of  glory  may  shine,  but  which  is  associated 
with  a  certain  melancholy,  from  the  solitude  to  which  its  very 
height  above  the  level  of  the  herd  condemned  its  owner! 
1  Is  not  this  prediction  already  fulfilled  1  —  1849. 


86  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE   LEGEND    OF    ROLAND.  THE    ADVENTURES    OF   NTMPHALIN 

ON    THE    ISLAND    OF    NONNEWERTH.  HER    SONG.  THE   DE- 
CAY   OF   THE   FAIEY-FAITH   IN   ENGLAND. 

On  the  shore  opposite  the  Drachenfels  stand  the  Euins  of 
Rolandseck, —  they  are  the  shattered  crown  of  a  lofty  and  per- 
pendicular mountain,  consecrated  to  the  memory  of  the  brave 
Eoland;  below,  the  trees  of  an  island  to  which  the  lady  of 
Eoland  retired,  rise  thick  and  verdant  from  the  smooth  tide. 

Nothing  can  exceed  the  eloquent  and  wild  grandeur  of  the 
whole  scene.  That  spot  is  the  pride  and  beauty  of  the 
Ehine. 

The  legend  that  consecrates  the  tower  and  the  island  is 
briefly  told ;  it  belongs  to  a  class  so  common  to  the  Romaunts 
of  Germany.  Roland  goes  to  the  wars.  A  false  report  of  his 
death  reaches  his  betrothed.  She  retires  to  the  convent  in 
the  isle  of  Nonnewerth,  and  takes  the  irrevocable  veil.  Roland 
returns  home,  flushed  with  glory  and  hope,  to  find  that  the 
very  fidelity  of  his  affianced  had  placed  an  eternal  barrier  be- 
tween them.  He  built  the  castle  that  bears  his  name,  and 
which  overlooks  the  monastery,  and  dwelt  there  till  his  death, 
—  happy  in  the  power  at  least  to  gaze,  even  to  the  last,  upon 
those  walls  which  held  the  treasure  he  had  lost. 

The  willows  droop  in  mournful  luxuriance  along  the  island, 
and  harmonize  with  the  memory  that,  through  the  desert  of  a 
thousand  years,  love  still  keeps  green  and  fresh.  Nor  hath 
it  permitted  even  those  additions  of  fiction  which,  like  mosses, 
gather  by  time  over  the  truth  that  they  adorn,  yet  adorning 
conceal,  to  mar  the  simple  tenderness  of  the  legend. 

All  was  still  in  the  island  of  Nonnewiirth;  the  lights  shone 
through  the  trees  from  the  house  that  contained  our  travel- 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE   RHINE.  87 

lers.  On  one  smooth  spot  where  the  islet  shelves  into  the 
Rhine  met  the  wandering  fairies. 

"Oh,  Pipalee!  how  beautiful!"  cried  Nymphalin,  as  she 
stood  enraptured  by  the  wave,  a  star-beam  shining  on  her, 
with  her  yellow  hair  "dancing  its  ringlets  in  the  whistling 
wind."  "For  the  first  time  since  our  departure  I  do  not  miss 
the  green  fields  of  England." 

"Hist!"  said  Pipalee,  under  her  breath;  "I  hear  fairy 
steps, —  they  must  be  the  steps  of  strangers." 

"Let  us  retreat  into  this  thicket  of  weeds,"  said  Xymphalin, 
somewhat  alarmed;  "the  good  lord-treasurer  is  already  asleep 
there."  They  whisked  into  what  to  them  was  a  forest,  for 
the  reeds  were  two  feet  high,  and  there  sure  enough  they 
found  the  lord-treasurer  stretched  beneath  a  bulrush,  with  his 
pipe  beside  him,  for  since  he  had  been  in  Germany  he  had 
taken  to  smoking;  and  indeed  wild  thyme,  properly  dried, 
makes  very  good  tobacco  for  a  fairy.  They  also  found  Nip 
and  Trip  sitting  very  close  together,  Nip  playing  with  her 
hair,  which  was  exceedingly  beautiful. 

"What  do  you  do  here?"  said  Pipalee,  shortly;  for  she 
was  rather  an  old  maid,  and  did  not  like  fairies  to  be  too  close 
to  each  other. 

"'Watching  my  lord's  slumber,"  said  Nip, 

"Pshaw! "  said  Pipalee. 

"Nay,"  quoth  Trip,  blushing  like  a  sea-shell;  "there  is  no 
harm  in  that,  I  'm  sure." 

"  Hush !  "  said  the  queen,  peeping  through  the  reeds. 

And  now  forth  from  the  green  bosom  of  the  earth  came  a 
tiny  train;  slowly,  two  by  two,  hand  in  hand,  they  swept 
from  a  small  aperture,  shadowed  with  fragrant  herbs,  and 
formed  themselves  into  a  ring :  then  came  other  fairies,  laden 
with  dainties,  and  presently  two  beautiful  white  mushrooms 
sprang  up,  on  which  the  viands  were  placed,  and  lo,  there 
was  a  banquet!  Oh,  how  merry  they  were!  what  gentle 
peals  of  laughter,  loud  as  a  virgin's  sigh!  what  jests!  what 
songs!  Happy  race!  if  mortals  could  see  you  as  often  as  I 
do,  in  the  soft  nights  of  summer,  they  would  never  be  at  a 
loss  for  entertainment.     But  as  our  English  fairies  looked  on, 


88  THE  PILGRBIS  OF   THE  RHINE. 

they  saw  that  these  foreign  elves  were  of  a  dilferent  race  from 
themselves:  they  were  taller. and  less  handsome,  their  hair 
was  darker,  they  wore  mustaches,  and  had  something  of  a 
fiercer  air.  Poor  Kymphalin  was  a  little  frightened;  but  pres- 
ently soft  music  was  heard  floating  along,  something  like  the 
sound  we  suddenly  hear  of  a  still  night  when  a  light  breeze 
steals  through  rushes,  or  wakes  a  ripple  in  some  shallow 
brook  dancing  over  pebbles.  And  lo,  from  the  aperture  of  the 
earth  came  forth  a  fay,  superbly  dressed,  and  of  a  noble  pres- 
ence. The  queen  started  back,  Pipalee  rubbed  her  eyes.  Trip 
looked  over  Pipalee's  shoulder,  and  Kip,  pinching  her  arm, 
cried  out  amazed,  "By  the  last  new  star,  that  is  Prince  von 
Payzenheim !  " 

Poor  Nymphalin  gazed  again,  and  her  little  heart  beat 
under  her  bee's-wing  bodice  as  if  it  would  break.  The  prince 
had  a  melancholy  air,  and  he  sat  apart  from  the  banquet,  gaz- 
ing abstractedly  on  the  Rhine. 

"Ah!  "  whispered  Nymphalin  to  herself,  "does  he  think 
of  me?  " 

Presently  the  prince  drew  forth  a  little  flute  hollowed  from 
a  small  reed,  and  began  to  play  a  mournful  air.  Nymphalin 
listened  with  delight;  it  was  one  he  had  learned  in  her 
dominions. 

When  the  air  was  over,  the  prince  rose,  and  approaching 
the  banqueters,  despatched  them  on  different  errands;  one  to 
visit  the  dwarf  of  the  Drachenfels,  another  to  look  after  the 
grave  of  Musseus,  and  a  whole  detachment  to  puzzle  the  stu- 
dents of  Heidelberg.  A  few  launched  themselves  upon  willow 
leaves  on  the  Rhine  to  cruise  about  in  the  starlight,  and  an- 
other band  set  out  a  hunting  after  the  gray-legged  moth.  The 
prince  was  left  alone;  and  now  Nymphalin,  seeing  the  coast 
clear,  wrapped  herself  up  in  a  cloak  made  out  of  a  withered 
leaf;  and  only  letting  her  eyes  glow  out  from  the  hood,  she 
glided  from  the  reeds,  and  the  prince  turnng  round,  saw  a 
dark  fairy  figure  by  his  side.  He  drew  back,  a  little  startled, 
and  placed  his  hand  on  his  sword,  when  Nymphalin  circling 
round  him,  sang  the  following  words :  — 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF   THE  RHINE.  89 

THE  FAIRY'S  REPROACH. 


By  the  glow-worm's  lamp  in  the  dewy  brake  ; 

By  the  gossamer's  airy  net ; 
By  tlie  sliifting  skin  of  the  faithless  snake, 
Oh,  teach  me  to  forget : 

For  none,  ah  none  • 
Can  teach  so  well  that  huniiui  spell 
As  thou,  false  one  ! 


By  the  fairy  dance  on  the  greensward  smooth ; 

By  the  winds  of  the  gentle  west; 
By  the  loving  stars,  when  their  soft  looks  soothe 
The  waves  on  their  mother's  breast. 
Teach  me  thy  lore  ! 
By  which,  like  withered  flowers, 
The  leaves  of  buried  Hours 
Blossom  no  more ! 


By  the  tent  in  the  violet's  bell ; 

By  the  may  on  the  scented  bough ; 
By  the  lone  green  isle  wliere  my  sisters  dwell; 
And  thine  own  forgotten  vow, 
Teach  me  to  live. 
Nor  feed  on  thoughts  that  pine 
For  love  so  false  as  thine  ! 
Teach  me  thy  lore. 
And  one  thou  lov'st  no  more 

Will  bless  thee  and  forgive  ! 

"Surely,"  said  Fayzenlieim,  faltering,  "surely  I  know  that 
voice !  " 

And  Nymphalin's  cloak  dropped  off  her  shoulder.  "My 
English  fairy  !  "  and  Fayzenheim  knelt  beside  her. 

I  wish  you  had  seen  the  fay  kneel,  for  you  would  have 
sworn  it  was  so  like  a  human  lover  that  you  would  never  have 
sneered  at  love  afterwards.  Love  is  so  fairy-like  a  part  of  us, 
that  even  a  fairy  cannot  make  it  differently  from  us, —  that  is 
to  say,  when  we  love  truly. 


90  THE  PILGRIMS  OF   THE   RHINE. 

There  was  great  joy  in  the  island  that  night  among  the 
elves.  They  conducted  Nymphalin  to  their  palace  within  the 
earth,  and  feasted  her  sumptuously;  and  Nip  told  their  ad- 
ventures with  so  much  spirit  that  he  enchanted  the  merry 
foreigners.  But  Fayzenheim  talked  apart  to  Nymphalin,  and 
told  her  how  he  was  lord  of  that  island,  and  how  he  had  been 
obliged  to  return  to  his  dominions  by  the  law  of  his  tribe, 
which  allowed  him  to  be  absent  only  a  certain  time  in  every 
year.  "But,  my  queen,  I  always  intended  to  revisit  thee  next 
sj)ring. " 

"Thou  need'st  not  have  left  us  so  abruptly,"  said  Nympha- 
lin, blushing. 

"  But  do  thou  never  leave  me !  "  said  the  ardent  fairy ;  "  be 
mine,  and  let  our  nuptials  be  celebrated  on  these  shores. 
Wouldst  thou  sigh  for  thy  green  island?  No  I  for  there  the 
fairy  altars  are  deserted,  the  faith  is  gone  from  the  land ;  thou 
art  among  the  last  of  an  unhonoured  and  expiring  race.  Thy 
mortal  poets  are  dumb,  and  Fancy,  which  was  thy  priestess, 
sleeps  hushed  in  her  last  repose.  New  and  hard  creeds  have 
succeeded  to  the  fairy  lore.  Who  steals  through  the  starlit 
boughs  on  the  nights  of  June  to  watch  the  roundels  of  thy 
tribe?  The  wheels  of  commerce,  the  din  of  trade,  have  si- 
lenced to  mortal  ear  the  music  of  thy  subjects'  harps !  And 
the  noisy  habitations  of  men,  harsher  than  their  dreaming 
sires,  are  gathering  round  the  dell  and  vale  where  thy  co- 
mates  linger :  a  few  years,  and  where  will  be  the  green  soli- 
tudes of  England?" 

The  queen  sighed,  and  the  prince,  perceiving  that  he  was 
listened  to,  continued, — 

"Who,  in  thy  native  shores,  among  the  children  of  men, 
now  claims  the  fairy's  care?  What  cradle  wouldst  thou  tend? 
On  what  maid  wouldst  thou  shower  thy  rosy  gifts?  What 
barb  wouldst  thou  haunt  in  his  dreams?  Poesy  is  fled  the 
island,  why  shouldst  thou  linger  behind?  Time  hath  brought 
dull  customs,  that  laugh  at  thy  gentle  being.  Puck  is  buried 
in  the  harebell,  he  hath  left  no  offspring,  and  none  mourn  for 
his  loss;  for  night,  which  is  the  fairy  season,  is  busy  and 
garish  as  the  day.     What  hearth  is  desolate  after  the  curfew? 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  91 

What  house  bathed  in  stillness  at  the  hour  in  which  thy 
revels  commence?  Thine  empire  among  men  hath  passed 
from  thee,  and  thy  race  are  vanishing  from  the  crowded  soil ; 
for,  despite  our  diviner  nature,  our  existence  is  linked  with 
man's.  Their  neglect  is  our  disease,  their  forgetfulness  our 
death.  Leave  then  those  dull,  yet  troubled  scenes,  that  are 
closing  round  the  fairy  rings  of  thy  native  isle.  These  moun- 
tains, this  herbage,  these  gliding  waves,  these  mouldering 
ruins,  these  starred  rivulets,  be  they,  0  beautiful  fairy!  thy 
new  domain.  Yet  in  these  lands  our  worship  lingers;  still 
can  we  fill  the  thought  of  the  young  bard,  and  mingle  with 
his  yearnings  after  the  Beautiful,  the  Unseen.  Hither  come 
the  pilgrims  of  the  world,  anxious  only  to  gather  from  these 
scenes  the  legends  of  Us;  ages  will  pass  away  ere  the  Ehine 
shall  be  desecrated  of  our  haunting  presence.  Come  then,  my 
queen,  let  this  palace  be  thine  own,  and  the  moon  that  glances 
over  the  shattered  towers  of  the  Dragon  Eock  witness  our 
nuptials  and  our  vows !  " 

In  such  words  the  fairy  prince  courted  the  young  queen,  and 
while  she  sighed  at  their  truth  she  yielded  to  their  charm. 
Oh,  still  may  there  be  one  spot  on  the  earth  where  the  fairy 
feet  may  press  the  legendary  soil!  still  be  there  one  land 
where  the  faith  of  The  Bright  Invisible  hallows  and  inspires! 
Still  glide  thou,  O  majestic  and  solemn  Rhine,  among  shades 
and  valleys,  from  which  the  wisdom  of  belief  can  call  the 
creations  of  the  younger  world! 


CHAPTER   XI. 

WHEREIN  THE  READER  IS  MADE  SPECTATOR  WITH  THE  ENG- 
LISH FAIRIES  OF  THE  SCENES  AND  BEINGS  THAT  ARE  BE- 
NEATH   THE    EARTH. 

During  the  heat  of  next  day's  noon,  Payzenheim  took  the 
English  visitors  through  the  cool  caverns  that  wind  amidst 
the   mountains   of  the  Rhine.     There,   a   thousand  wonders 


92  THE  PILGRIMS   OF   THE  RHINE. 

awaited  the  eyes  of  the  fairy  queen,  I  speak  not  of  the 
Gothic  arch  and  aisle  into  which  the  hollow  earth  forms  it- 
self, or  the  stream  that  rushes  with  a  mighty  voice  through 
the  dark  chasm,  or  the  silver  columns  that  shoot  aloft, 
worked  by  the  gnomes  from  the  mines  of  the  mountains  of 
Taunus ;  but  of  the  strange  inhabitants  that  from  time  to  time 
they  came  upon.  They  found  in  one  solitary  cell,  lined  with 
dried  moss,  two  misshapen  elves,  of  a  larger  size  than  com- 
mon, with  a  plebeian  working-day  aspect,  who  were  chatting 
noisily  together,  and  making  a  pair  of  boots :  these  were  the 
Hausmannen  or  domestic  elves,  that  dance  into  tradesmen's 
houses  of  a  night,  and  play  all  sorts  of  undignified  tricks. 
They  were  very  civil  to  the  queen,  for  they  are  good-natured 
creatures  on  the  whole,  and  once  had  many  relations  in  Scot- 
land. They  then,  following  the  course  of  a  noisy  rivulet, 
came  to  a  hole  from  which  the  sharp  head  of  a  fox  peeped 
out.  The  queen  was  frightened.  "Oh,  come  on,"  said  the 
fox,  encouragingly,  "  I  am  one  of  the  fairy  race,  and  many  are 
the  gambols  we  of  the  brute -elves  play  in  the  German  world 
of  romance."  "Indeed,  Mr.  Fox,"  said  the  prince,  "you  only 
speak  the  truth;  and  how  is  Mr.  Bruin?"  "Quite  well,  my 
prince,  but  tired  of  his  seclusion ;  for  indeed  our  race  can  do 
little  or  nothing  now  in  the  world;  and  lie  here  in  our  old 
age,  telling  stories  of  the  past,  and  recalling  the  exploits  we 
did  in  our  youth, —  which,  madam,  you  may  see  in  all  the 
fairy  histories  in  the  prince's  library." 

"  Your  own  love  adventures,  for  instance.  Master  Fox, "  said 
the  prince. 

The  fox  snarled  angrily,  and  drew  in  his  head. 

"You  have  displeased  your  friend,"  said  Nymphalin. 

"Yes;  he  likes  no  allusions  to  the  amorous  follies  of  his 
youth.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  his  rivalry  with  the  dog  for  the 
cat's  good  graces?  " 

"No;  that  must  be  very  amusing." 

"  Well,  my  queen,  when  we  rest  by  and  by,  I  will  relate  to 
you  the  history  of  the  fox's  wooing." 

The  next  place  they  came  to  was  a  vast  Runic  cavern,  cov- 
ered with  dark  inscriptions  of  a  forgotten  tongue ;  and  sitting 


THE   PILGRIMS   OF   THE   RHINE.  93 

on  a  huge  stone  they  found  a  dwarf  with  long  yellow  hair,  his 
head  leaning  on  his  breast,  and  absorbed  in  meditation. 

"This  is  a  spirit  of  a  wise  and  powerful  race,"  whispered 
Fayzeuheim,  "that  has  often  battled  with  the  fairies;  but  he 
is  of  the  kindly  tribe." 

Then  the  dwarf  lifted  his  head  with  a  mournful  air;  and 
gazed  upon  the  bright  shapes  before  him,  lighted  by  the  pine- 
torches  that  the  prince's  attendants  carried. 

"  And  what  dost  thou  muse  upon,  0  descendant  of  the  race 
of  Laurin?  "  said  the  prince. 

"Upon  Time!"  answered  the  dwarf,  gloomily.  "I  see  a 
Eiver,  and  its  waves  are  black,  flowing  from  the  clouds,  and 
none  knoweth  its  source.  It  rolls  deeply  on,  aye  and  ever- 
more, through  a  green  valley,  which  it  slowly  swallows  up, 
washing  away  tower  and  town,  and  vanquishing  all  things; 
and  the  name  of  the  River  is  Time." 

Then  the  dwarf's  head  sank  on  his  bosom,  and  he  spoke 
no  more. 

The  fairies  proceeded.  "  Above  us, "  said  the  prince,  "  rises 
one  of  the  loftiest  mountains  of  the  Rhine ;  for  mountains  are 
the  Dwarf's  home.  When  the  Great  Spirit  of  all  made  earth, 
he  saw  that  the  hollows  of  the  rocks  and  hills  were  tenantless, 
and  yet  that  a  mighty  kingdom  and  great  palaces  were  hid 
within  them, —  a  dread  and  dark  solitude,  but  lighted  at  times 
from  the  starry  eyes  of  many  jewels ;  and  there  was  the  treasure 
of  the  human  Vv^orld  —  gold  and  silver  —  and  great  heaps  of 
gems,  and  a  soil  of  metals.  So  God  made  a  race  for  this  vast 
empire,  and  gifted  them  with  the  power  of  thought,  and  the 
soul  of  exceeding  wisdom,  so  that  they  want  not  the  merri- 
ment and  enterprise  of  the  outer  world;  but  musing  in  these 
dark  caves  is  their  delight.  Their  existence  rolls  away  in 
the  luxury  of  thought;  only  from  time  to  time  they  appear  in 
the  Avorld,  and  betoken  woe  or  weal  to  men,  —  according  to 
their  nature,  for  they  are  divided  into  two  tribes,  the  benevo- 
lent and  the  wrathful."  While  the  prince  spoke,  they  saw 
glaring  upon  them  from  a  ledge  in  the  upper  rock  a  grisly 
face  with  a  long  matted  beard.  The  prince  gathered  himself 
up,  and  frowned  at  the  evil  dwarf,  for  such  it  was ;  but  with 


94  THE   PILGRIMS   OF   THE   RHINE. 

a  wild  laugh  the  face  abruptly  disappeared,  and  the  echo  of 
the  laugh  rang  with  a  ghastly  sound  through  the  long  hollows 
of  the  earth. 

The  queen  clung  to  Fayzenheim's  arm.  "Fear  not,  my 
queen,"  said  he.  "The  evil  race  have  no  power  over  our 
light  and  aerial  nature;  with  men  only  they  war;  and  he 
whom  we  have  seen  was,  in  the  old  ages  of  the  world,  one  of 
the  deadliest  visitors  to  mankind." 

But  now  they  came  winding  by  a  passage  to  a  beautiful 
recess  in  the  mountain  empire ;  it  was  of  a  circular  shape  of 
amazing  height;  in  the  midst  of  it  played  a  natural  fountain 
of  sparkling  waters,  and  around  it  were  columns  of  massive 
granite,  rising  in  countless  vistas,  till  lost  in  the  distant 
shade.  Jewels  were  scattered  round,  and  brightly  played  the 
fairy  torches  on  the  gem,  the  fountain,  and  the  pale  silver, 
that  gleamed  at  frequent  intervals  from  the  rocks.  "  Here  let 
us  rest,"  said  the  gallant  fairy,  clapping  his  hands;  "what, 
ho!   music  and  the  feast." 

So  the  feast  was  spread  by  the  fountain's  side;  and  the 
courtiers  scattered  rose-leaves,  which  they  had  brought  with 
them,  for  the  prince  and  his  visitor;  and  amidst  the  dark 
kingdom  of  the  dwarfs  broke  the  delicate  sound  of  fairy  lutes. 
"We  have  not  these  evil  beings  in  England,"  said  the  queen, 
as  low  as  she  could  speak;  "they  rouse  my  fear,  but  my  in- 
terest also.  Tell  me,  dear  prince,  of  what  nature  was  the  in- 
tercourse of  the  evil  dwarf  with  man?  " 

"You  know,"  answered  the  prince,  "that  to  every  species  of 
living  thing  there  is  something  in  common ;  the  vast  chain  of 
sympathy  runs  through  all  creation.  By  that  which  they 
have  in  common  with  the  beast  of  the  field  or  the  bird  of  the 
air,  men  govern  the  inferior  tribes ;  they  appeal  to  the  com- 
mon passions  of  fear  and  emulation  when  they  tame  the  wild 
steed,  to  the  common  desire  of  greed  and  gain  when  they 
snare  the  fishes  of  the  stream,  or  allure  the  wolves  to  the  pit- 
fall by  the  bleating  of  the  lamb.  In  their  turn,  in  the  older 
ages  of  the  world,  it  was  by  the  passions  which  men  had  in 
common  with  the  demon  race  that  the  fiends  commanded  or 
allured  them.     The  dwarf  whom  you  saw,  being  of  that  race 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  95 

wliich  is  characterized  by  the  ambition  of  power  and  the  de- 
sire of  hoarding,  appealed  then  in  his  intercourse  with  men 
to  the  same  characteristics  in  their  own  bosoms, —  to  ambition 
or  to  avarice.  And  thus  were  his  victims  made!  But,  not 
now,  dearest  Xymphalin,"  continued  the  prince,  with  a  more 
lively  air, —  "not  now  will  we  speak  of  those  gloomy  beings. 
Ho,  there!  cease  the  music,  and  come  hither  all  of  ye,  to 
listen  to  a  faithful  and  homely  history  of  the  Uog,  the  Cat, 
the  Griffin,  and  the  Fox." 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE   WOOING   OF   MASTER   FOX.^ 

You  are  aware,  my  dear  Nymphalin,  that  in  the  time  of 
which  I  am  about  to  speak  there  was  no  particular  enmity 
between  the  various  species  of  brutes;  the  dog  and  the  hare 
chatted  very  agreeably  together,  and  all  the  world  knows  that 
the  wolf,  unacquainted  with  mutton,  had  a  particular  affection 
for  the  lamb.  In  these  happy  days,  two  most  respectable 
cats,  of  very  old  family,  had  an  only  daughter.  Never  was 
kitten  more  amiable  or  more  seducing;  as  she  grew  up  she 
manifested  so  many  charms,  that  in  a  little  while  she  became 
noted  as  the  greatest  beauty  in  the  neighbourhood.  Need  I 
to  you,  dearest  Nymphalin,  describe  her  perfection?  Suffice 
it  to  say  that  her  skin  was  of  the  most  delicate  tortoiseshell, 

1  In  the  excursions  of  the  fairies,  it  is  the  object  of  the  author  to  bring 
before  the  reader  a  rapid  phantasmagoria  of  the  various  beings  that  belong 
to  the  German  superstitions,  so  that  the  work  may  thus  describe  the  outer 
and  the  inner  world  of  the  land  of  the  Rhine.  The  tale  of  the  Fox's  Wooing 
has  been  composed  to  give  the  English  reader  an  idea  of  a  species  of  novel 
not  naturalized  amongst  us,  though  frequent  among  the  legends  of  our  Irish 
neighbours;  in  which  the  brutes  are  the  only  characters  drawn,  —  drawn  too 
with  shades  of  distinction  as  nice  and  subtle  as  if  they  were  the  creatures  of 
the  civilized,  world. 


96  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

that  her  paws  were  smoother  than  velvet,  that  her  whiskers 
were  twelve  inches  long  at  the  least,  and  that  her  eyes  had  a 
gentleness  altogether  astonishing  in  a  cat.  But  if  the  young 
beauty  had  suitors  in  plenty  during  the  lives  of  monsieur  and 
madame,  you  may  suppose  the  number  was  not  diminished 
when,  at  the  age  of  two  years  and  a  half,  she  was  left  an 
orphan,  and  sole  heiress  to  all  the  hereditary  property.  In 
fine,  she  was  the  richest  marriage  in  the  whole  country. 
Without  troubling  you,  dearest  queen,  with  the  adventures  of 
the  rest  of  her  lovers,  with  their  suit  and  their  rejection,  I 
come  at  once  to  the  two  rivals  most  sanguine  of  success, —  the 
dog  and  the  fox. 

Now  the  dog  was  a  handsome,  honest,  straightforward,  af- 
fectionate fellow.  "For  my  part,"  said  he,  "I  don't  wonder 
at  my  cousin's  refusing  Bruin  the  bear,  and  Gauntgrim  the 
wolf:  to  be  sure  they  give  themselves  great  airs,  and  call 
themselves  '  noble,' hut  what  then?  Bruin  is  always  in  the 
sulks,  and  Gauntgrim  always  in  a  passion;  a  cat  of  any  sen- 
sibility would  lead  a  miserable  life  with  them.  As  for  me,  I 
am  very  good-tempered  when  I  'm  not  put  out,  and  I  have  no 
fault  except  that  of  being  angry  if  disturbed  at  my  meals.  I 
am  young  and  good-looking,  fond  of  play  and  amusement,  and 
altogether  as  agreeable  a  husband  as  a  cat  could  find  in  a  sum- 
mer's day.  If  she  marries  me,  well  and  good;  she  may  have 
her  property  settled  on  herself:  if  not,  I  shall  bear  her  no 
malice;  and  I  hope  I  sha'n't  be  too  much  in  love  to  forget 
that  there  are  other  cats  in  the  world." 

With  that  the  dog  threw  his  tail  over  his  back,  and  set  off 
to  his  mistress  with  a  gay  face  on  the  matter. 

Now  the  fox  heard  the  dog  talking  thus  to  himself, — 
for  the  fox  was  always  peeping  about,  in  holes  and  corners, 
and  he  burst  out  a  laughing  when  the  dog  was  out  of 
sight. 

"  Ho,  ho,  my  fine  fellow !  "  said  he ;  "  not  so  fast,  if  you 
please:  you've  got  the  fox  for -a  rival,  let  me  tell  you." 

The  fox,  as  you  very  well  know,  is  a  beast  that  can  never 
do  anything  without  a  manoeuvre ;  and  as,  from  his  cunning, 
he  was  generally  very  lucky  in  anything  he  undertook,  he  did 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE   RHINE.  97 

not  doubt  for  a  moment  that  he  should  put  the  dog's  nose  out 
of  joint.  Reynard  was  aware  that  in  love  one  should  always, 
if  possible,  be  the  first  in  the  field;  and  he  therefore  resolved 
to  get  the  start  of  the  dog  and  arrive  before  him  at  the  cat's 
residence.  But  this  was  no  easy  matter;  for  though  Reynard 
could  run  faster  than  the  dog  for  a  little  way,  he  was  no 
match  for  him  in  a  journey  of  some  distance.  "However," 
said  Reynard,  "those  good-natured  creatures  are  never  very 
wise;  and  I  think  I  know  already  what  will  make  him  bait 
on  his  way," 

With  that,  the  fox  trotted  pretty  fast  by  a  short  cut  in  the 
woods,  and  getting  before  the  dog,  laid  himself  down  by  a 
hole  in  the  earth,  and  began  to  howl  most  piteously. 

The  dog,  hearing  the  noise,  was  very  much  alarmed.  "  See 
now,"  said  he,  "if  the  poor  fox  has  not  got  himself  into  some 
scrape!  Those  cunning  creatures  are  always  in  mischief; 
thank  Heaven,  it  never  comes  into  my  head  to  be  cunning!  " 
And  the  good-natured  animal  ran  off  as  hard  as  he  could  to 
see  what  was  the  matter  with  the  fox. 

"Oh,  dear!"  cried  Reynard;  "what  shall  I  do?  What  shall 
I  do?  My  poor  little  sister  has  fallen  into  this  hole,  and  I 
can't  get  her  out;  she'll  certainly  be  smothered."  And  the 
fox  burst  out  a  howling  more  piteously  than  before. 

"But,  my  dear  Reynard,"  quoth  the  dog,  very  simply, 
"why  don't  you  go  in  after  your  sister?" 

"Ah,  you  may  well  ask  that,"  said  the  fox;  "but,  in  trying 
to  get  in,  don't  you  perceive  that  I  have  sprained  my  back 
and  can't  stir?  Oh,  dear!  what  shall  I  do  if  my  poor  little 
sister  is  smothered!  " 

"Pray  don't  vex  yourself,"  said  the  dog;  "I  '11  get  her  out 
in  an  instant."  And  with  that  he  forced  himself  with  great 
difficulty  into  the  hole. 

Now,  no  sooner  did  the  fox  see  that  the  dog  was  fairly  in, 
than  he  rolled  a  great  stone  to  the  mouth  of  the  hole  and 
fitted  it  so  tight,  that  the  dog,  not  being  able  to  turn  round 
and  scratch  against  it  with  his  forepaws,  was  made  a  close 
prisoner. 

"Ha,  ha!"  cried  Reynard,  laughing  outside;  "amuse  your- 

7 


98  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

self  with  my  poor  little  sister,  while  I  go  and  make  your  com- 
pliments to  Mademoiselle  the  Cat." 

With  that  Eeynard  set  off  at  an  easy  pace,  never  troubling 
his  head  what  became  of  the  poor  dog.  When  he  arrived  in 
the  neighbourhood  of  the  beautiful  cat's  mansion,  he  resolved 
to  pay  a  visit  to  a  friend  of  his,  an  old  magpie  that  lived  in  a 
tree  and  was  well  acquainted  with  all  the  news  of  the  place. 
"For,"  thought  Eeynard,  "I  may  as  well  know  the  blind  side 
of  my  mistress  that  is  to  be,  and  get  round  it  at  once." 

The  magpie  received  the  fox  with  great  cordiality,  and  in- 
quired what  brought  him  so  great  a  distance  from  home. 

"Upon  my  word,"  said  the  fox,  "nothing  so  much  as  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  your  ladyship  and  hearing  those  agreeable 
anecdotes  you  tell  with  so  charming  a  grace;  but  to  let  you 
into  a  secret  —  be  sure  it  don't  go  further  —  " 

"On  the  word  of  a  magpie,"  interrupted  the  bird. 

"  Pardon  me  for  doubting  you, "  continued  the  fox ;  "  I  should 
have  recollected  that  a  pie  was  a  proverb  for  discretion.  But, 
as  I  was  saying,  you  known  her  Majesty  the  lioness?  " 

"Surely,"  said  the  mapgie,  bridling. 

"Well;  she  was  pleased  to  fall  in  —  that  is  to  say  —  to  — 
to  —  take  a  caprice  to  your  humble  servant,  and  the  lion  grew 
so  jealous  that  I  thought  it  prudent  to  decamp.  A  jealous 
lion  is  no  joke,  let  me  assure  your  ladyship.  But  mum  's  the 
word." 

So  great  a  piece  of  news  delighted  the  magpie.  She  could 
not  but  repay  it  in  kind,  by  all  the  news  in  her  budget.  She 
told  the  fox  all  the  scandal  about  Bruin  and  Gauntgrim,  and 
she  then  fell  to  work  on  the  poor  young  cat.  She  did  not 
spare  her  foibles,  you  may  be  quite  sure.  The  fox  listened 
with  great  attention,  and  he  learned  enough  to  convince 
him  that  however  much  the  magpie  might  exaggerate,  the 
cat  was  very  susceptible  to  flattery,  and  had  a  great  deal  of 
imagination. 

When  the  magpie  had  finished  she  said,  "But  it  must  be 
very  unfortunate  for  you  to  be  banished  from  so  magnificent  a 
court  as  that  of  the  lion?  " 

"  As  to  that, "  answered  the  fox,  "  I  console  myself  for  my 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF   THE  RHINE.  99 

exile  with  a  present  his  Majesty  made  me  on  parting,  as  a  re- 
ward for  my  anxiety  for  his  honour  and  domestic  tranquillity; 
namely,  three  hairs  from  the  fifth  leg  of  the  amoronthologos- 
phorus.     Only  think  of  that,  ma'am!  " 

"The  what?"  cried  the  pie,  cocking  down  her  left  ear. 

"The  amoronthologosphorus." 

"  La !  "  said  the  magpie ;  "  and  what  is  that  very  long  word, 
my  dear  Reynard?  " 

"The  amoronthologosphorus  is  a  beast  that  lives  on  the 
other  side  of  the  river  Cylinx;  it  has  five  legs,  and  on  the 
fifth  leg  there  are  three  hairs,  and  whoever  has  those  three 
hairs  can  be  young  and  beautiful  forever." 

"Bless  me!  I  wish  you  would  let  me  see  them,"  said  the 
pie,  holding  out  her  claw. 

"Would  that  I  could  oblige  you,  ma'am;  but  it's  as  much 
as  my  life  's  worth  to  show  them  to  any  but  the  lady  I  marry. 
In  fact,  they  only  have  an  effect  on  the  fair  sex,  as  you  may 
see  by  myself,  whose  poor  person  they  utterly  fail  to  improve : 
they  are,  therefore,  intended  for  a  marriage  present,  and  his 
Majesty  the  lion  thus  generously  atoned  to  me  for  relinquish- 
ing the  tenderness  of  his  queen.  One  must  confess  that  there 
was  a  great  deal  of  delicacy  in  the  gift.  But  you  '11  be  sure 
not  to  mention  it." 

"A  magpie  gossip  indeed!  "  quoth  the  old  blab. 

The  fox  then  wished  the  magpie  good  night,  and  retired  to 
a  hole  to  sleep  off  the  fatigues  of  the  day,  before  he  presented 
himself  to  the  beautiful  young  cat. 

The  next  morning.  Heaven  knows  how!  it  was  all  over  the 
place  that  Eeynard  the  fox  had  been  banished  from  court  for 
the  favour  shown  him  by  her  Majesty,  and  that  the  lion  had 
bribed  his  departure  with  three  hairs  that  would  make  any 
lady  whom  the  fox  married  young  and  beautiful  forever. 

The  cat  was  the  first  to  learn  the  news,  and  she  became  all 
curiosity  to  see  so  interesting  a  stranger,  possessed  of  "  quali- 
fications "  which,  in  the  language  of  the  day,  "  would  render 
any  animal  happy!  "  She  was  not  long  without  obtaining  her 
wish.  As  she  was  taking  a  walk  in  the  wood  the  fox  con- 
trived to  encounter  her.     You  may  be  sure  that  he  made  her 


100  THE  PILGRIMS  OF   THE  RHINE. 

his  best  bow;  and  lie  flattered  the  poor  cat  with  so  courtly  an 
air  that  she  saw  nothing  surprising  in  the  love  of  the  lioness. 

Meanwhile  let  us  see  what  became  of  his  rival,  the  dog. 

"Ah,  the  poor  creature!"  said  Nymphalin;  "it  is  easy  to 
guess  that  he  need  not  be  buried  alive  to  lose  all  chance  of 
inarrying  the  heiress." 

"Wait  till  the  end,"  answered  Fayzenheim. 

When  the  dog  found  that  he  was  thus  entrapped,  he  gave 
himself  up  for  lost.  In  vain  he  kicked  with  his  hind-legs 
against  the  stone, —  he  only  succeeded  in  bruising  his  paws; 
and  at  length  he  was  forced  to  lie  down,  with  his  tongue  out 
of  his  mouth,  and  quite  exhausted.  "  However,"  said  he,  after 
he  had  taken  breath,  "  it  won't  do  to  be  starved  here,  without 
doing  my  best  to  escape;  and  if  I  can't  get  out  one  way,  let  me 
see  if  there  is  not  a  hole  at  the  other  end."  Thus  saying, 
his  courage,  which  stood  him  in  lieu  of  cunning,  returned,  and 
he  proceeded  on  in  the  same  straightforward  way  in  which 
he  always  conducted  himself.  At  first  the  path  was  exceed- 
ingly narrow,  and  he  hurt  his  sides  very  much  against  the 
rough  stones  that  projected  from  the  earth ;  but  by  degrees  the 
way  became  broader,  and  he  now  went  on  with  considerable  ease 
to  himself,  till  he  arrived  in  a  large  cavern,  where  he  saw  an 
immense  griffin  sitting  on  his  tail,  and  smoking  a  huge  pipe. 

The  dog  was  by  no  means  pleased  at  meeting  so  suddenly  a 
creature  that  had  only  to  open  his  mouth  to  swallow  him  up 
at  a  morsel ;  however,  he  put  a  bold  face  on  the  danger,  and 
walking  respectfully  up  to  the  griffin,  said,  "  Sir,  I  should  be 
very  much  obliged  to  you  if  you  would  inform  me  the  way  out 
of  these  holes  into  the  upper  world." 

The  griffin  took  the  pipe  out  of  his  mouth,  and  looked  at  the 
dog  very  sternly. 

"Ho,  wretch!"  said  he,  "how  comest  thou  hither?  I  sup- 
pose thou  wantest  to  steal  my  treasure ;  but  I  know  how  to 
treat  such  vagabonds  as  you,  and  I  shall  certainly  eat  you 
up." 

"You  can  do  that  if  you  choose,"  said  the  dog;  "but  it 
would  be  very  unhandsome  conduct  in  an  animal  so  much 
bigger  than  myself.     For  my  own  part,  I  never  attack  any 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  101 

dog  that  is  not  of  equal  size, —  I  should  be  ashamed  of  myself 
if  I  did.  And  as  to  your  treasure,  the  character  I  bear  for 
honesty  is  too  well  known  to  merit  such  a  suspicion." 

"Upon  my  word,"  said  the  griffin,  who  could  not  help  smil- 
ing for  the  life  of  him,  "you  have  a  singularly  free  mode  of 
expressing  yourself.     And  how,  I  say,  came  you  hither?  " 

Then  the  dog,  who  did  not  know  what  a  lie  was,  told  the 
griffin  his  whole  history, —  how  he  had  set  off  to  pay  his  court 
to  the  cat,  and  how  Keynard  the  fox  had  entrapped  him  into 
the  hole. 

When  he  had  finished,  the  griffin  said  to  him,  "  I  see,  my 
friend,  that  you  know  how  to  speak  the  truth;  I  am  in  want 
of  just  such  a  servant  as  you  will  make  me,  therefore  stay 
with  me  and  keep  watch  over  my  treasure  when  I  sleep." 

"Two  words  to  that,"  said  the  dog.  "You  have  hurt  my 
feelings  very  much  by  suspecting  my  honesty,  and  I  would 
much  sooner  go  back  into  the  wood  and  be  avenged  on  that 
scoundrel  the  fox,  than  serve  a  master  who  has  so  ill  an  opin- 
ion of  me.  I  pray  you,  therefore,  to  dismiss  me,  and  to  put 
me  in  the  right  way  to  my  cousin  the  cat." 

"  I  am  not  a  griffin  of  many  words, "  answered  the  master  of 
the  cavern,  "and  I  give  you  your  choice, —  be  my  servant  or 
be  my  breakfast ;  it  is  just  the  same  to  me.  I  give  you  time 
to  decide  till  I  have  smoked  out  my  pipe." 

The  poor  dog  did  not  take  so  long  to  consider.  "  It  is  true, " 
thought  he,  "  that  it  is  a  great  misfortune  to  live  in  a  cave 
with  a  griffin  of  so  unpleasant  a  countenance ;  but,  probably, 
if  I  serve  him  well  and  faithfully,  he  '11  take  pity  on  me  some 
day,  and  let  me  go  back  to  earth,  and  prove  to  my  cousin 
what  a  rogue  the  fox  is ;  and  as  to  the  rest,  though  I  would 
sell  my  life  as  dear  as  I  could,  it  is  impossible  to  fight  a 
griffin  with  a  mouth  of  so  monstrous  a  size."  In  short,  he  de- 
cided to  stay  with  the  griffin. 

"Shake  a  paw  on  it,"  quoth  the  grim  ^oker;  and  the  dog 
shook  paws. 

"  And  now, "  said  the  griffin,  "  I  will  tell  you  what  you  are 
to  do.  Look  here,"  and  moving  his  tail,  he  showed  the  dog 
a  great  heap  of  gold  and  silver,  in  a  hole  in  the  ground,  that 


102  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHIXE. 

he  had  covered  with  the  folds  of  his  tail;  and  also,  what  the 
dog  thought  more  valuable,  a  great  heap  of  bones  of  very- 
tempting  appearance.  "Now,"  said  the  griffin,  "during  the 
day  I  can  take  very  good  care  of  these  myself ;  but  at  night 
it  is  very  necessary  that  I  should  go  to  sleep,  so  when  I  sleep 
you  must  watch  over  them  instead  of  me." 

"Very  well,"  said  the  dog.  "As  to  the  gold  and  silver,  I 
have  no  objection;  but  I  would  much  rather  that  you  would 
lock  up  the  bones,  for  I  'm  often  hungry  of  a  night,  and  —  " 

"Hold  your  tongue,"  said  the  griffin. 

"  But,  sir, "  said  the  dog,  after  a  short  silence,  "  surely  no- 
body ever  comes  into  so  retired  a  situation!  Who  are  the 
thieves,  if  I  may  make  bold  to  ask?  " 

"  Know, "  answered  the  griffin,  "  that  there  are  a  great  many 
serpents  in  this  neighbourhood.  They  are  always  trying  to 
steal  my  treasure;  and  if  they  catch  me  napping,  they,  not 
contented  with  theft,  would  do  their  best  to  sting  me  to  death. 
So  that  I  am  almost  worn  out  for  want  of  sleep." 

"Ah,"  quoth  the  dog,  who  was  fond  of  a  good  night's  rest, 
"I  don't  envy  you  your  treasure,  sir." 

At  night,  the  griffin,  who  had  a  great  deal  of  penetration, 
and  saw  that  he  might  depend  on  the  dog,  lay  down  to  sleep 
in  another  corner  of  the  cave ;  and  the  dog,  shaking  himself 
well,  so  as  to  be  quite  awake,  took  watch  over  the  treasure. 
His  mouth  watered  exceedingly  at  the  bones,  and  he  could 
not  help  smelling  them  now  and  then;  but  he  said  to  himself, 
"A  bargain  's  a  bargain,  and  since  I  have  promised  to  serve 
the  griffin,  I  must  serve  him  as  an  honest  dog  ought  to 
serve." 

In  the  middle  of  the  night  he  saw  a  great  snake  creeping 
in  by  the  side  of  the  cave ;  but  the  dog  set  up  so  loud  a  bark 
that  the  griffin  awoke,  and  the  snake  crept  away  as  fast  as  he 
could.  Then  the  griffin  was  very  much  pleased,  and  he  gave 
the  dog  one  of  the  bones  to  amuse  himself  with;  and  every 
night  the  dog  watched  the  treasure,  and  acquitted  himself  so 
well  that  not  a  snake,  at  last,  dared  to  make  its  appearance, — 
so  the  griffin  enjoyed  an  excellent  night's  rest. 

The  dog  now  found  himself  much  more  comfortable  than  he 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF   THE  RHINE.  103 

expected.  The  griffin  regularly  gave  him  one  of  the  bones  for 
supper;  and,  pleased  with  his  fidelity,  made  himself  as  agree- 
able a  master  as  a  griffin  could  be.  Still,  however,  the  dog 
was  secretly  very  anxious  to  return  to  earth;  for  having  noth- 
ing to  do  during  the  day  but  to  doze  on  the  ground,  he 
dreamed  perpetually  of  his  cousin  the  cat's  charms,  and,  in 
fancy,  he  gave  the  rascal  Keynard  as  hearty  a  worry  as  a  fox 
may  well  have  the  honour  of  receiving  from  a  dog's  paws. 
He  awoke  panting;  alas!  he  could  not  realize  his  dreams. 

One  night,  as  he  was  watching  as  usual  over  the  treasure, 
he  was  greatly  surprised  to  see  a  beautiful  little  black  and 
white  dog  enter  the  cave;  and  it  came  fawning  to  our  honest 
friend,  wagging  its  tail  with  pleasure. 

"Ah,  little  one,"  said  our  dog,  whom,  to  distinguish,  I  will 
call  the  watch-dog,  "you  had  better  make  the  best  of  your 
way  back  again.  See,  there  is  a  great  griffin  asleep  in  the 
other  corner  of  the  cave,  and  if  he  wakes,  he  will  either  eat 
you  up  or  make  you  his  servant,  as  he  has  made  me." 

"I  know  what  3^ on  would  tell  me,"  says  the  little  dog; 
"and  I  have  come  down  here  to  deliver  you.  The  stone  is 
now  gone  from  the  mouth  of  the  cave,  and  you  have  nothing 
to  do  but  to  go  back  with  me.     Come,  brother,  come." 

The  dog  was  very  much  excited  by  this  address.  "Don't 
ask  me,  my  dear  little  friend,"  said  he;  "you  must  be  aware 
that  I  should  be  too  happy  to  escape  out  of  this  cold  cave, 
and  roll  on  the  soft  turf  once  more :  but  if  I  leave  my  master, 
the  griffin,  those  cursed  serpents,  who  are  always  on  the 
watch,  will  come  in  and  steal  his  treasure, —  nay,  perhaps, 
sting  him  to  death."  Then  the  little  dog  came  up  to  the 
watch-dog,  and  remonstrated  with  him  greatly,  and  licked 
him  caressingly  on  both  sides  of  his  face;  and,  taking  him 
by  the  ear,  endeavoured  to  draw  him  from  the  treasure :  but 
the  dog  would  not  stir  a  step,  though  his  heart  sorely  pressed 
hira.  At  length  the  little  dog,  finding  it  all  in  vain,  said, 
"Well,  then,  if  I  must  leave,  good-by;  but  I  have  become  so 
hungry  in  coming  down  all  this  way  after  you,  that  I  wish 
you  would  give  me  one  of  those  bones ;  they  smell  very  pleas- 
antly, and  one  out  of  so  many  could  never  be  missed." 


104  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHIXE. 

"  Alas !  "  said  the  watch-dog,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  "  how 
unlucky  I  am  to  have  eaten  up  the  bone  my  master  gave  me, 
otherwise  you  should  have  had  it  and  welcome.  But  I  can't 
give  you  one  of  these,  because  my  master  has  made  me  prom- 
ise to  watch  over  them  all,  and  I  have  given  him  my  paw  on 
it.  I  am  sure  a  dog  of  your  respectable  appearance  will  say 
nothing  further  on  the  subject." 

Then  the  little  dog  answered  pettishly,  "Pooh,  what  non- 
sense you  talk !  surely  a  great  griffin  can't  miss  a  little  bone 
fit  for  me?  "  and  nestling  his  nose  under  the  watch-dog,  he 
tried  forthwith  to  bring  up  one  of  the  bones. 

On  this  the  watch-dog  grew  angry,  and,  though  with  much 
reluctance,  he  seized  the  little  dog  by  the  nape  of  the  neck 
and  threw  him  off,  but  without  hurting  him.     Suddenly  the 
little  dog  changed  into  a  monstrous  serpent,  bigger  even  than 
the  griffin  himself,  and  the  watch-dog  barked  with  all  his 
might.     The  griffin  rose  in  a  great  hurry,  and  the  serpent 
sprang  upon  him  ere  he  was  well  awake.     I  wish,  dearest 
Nymphalin,  you  could  have  seen  the  battle  between  the  griffin 
and  the  serpent, —  how  they  coiled  and  twisted,  and  bit  and 
darted  their  fiery  tongues  at  each  other.     At  length  the  ser- 
pent got  uppermost,  and  was  about  to  plunge  his  tongue  into 
that  part  of  the  griffin  which  is  unprotected  by  his  scales, 
when  the  dog,  seizing  him  by  the  tail,  bit  him  so  sharply  that 
he  could  not  help  turning  round  to  kill  his  new  assailant,  and 
the  griffin,  taking  advantage  of  the  opportunity,  caught  the 
serpent  by  the  throat  with  both  claws,  and  fairly  strangled 
him.     As  soon  as  the  griffin  had  recovered  from  the  nervous- 
ness of  the  conflict,  he  heaped  all  manner  of  caresses  on  the 
dog  for  saving  his  life.     The  dog  told  him  the  whole  story, 
and  the  griffin  then  explained  that  the  dead  snake  was  the 
king  of  the  serpents,  who  had  the  power  to  change  himself 
into  any  shape  he  pleased.     "If  he  had  tempted  you,"  said 
he,   "to  leave  the  treasure  but  for  one  moment,  or  to  have 
given  him  any  part  of  it,  ay,  but  a  single  bone,  he  would 
have  crushed  you  in  an  instant,  and  stung  me  to  death  ere  I 
could  have  waked;  but  none,  no,  not  the  most  venomous  thing 
in  creation,  has  power  to  hurt  the  honest !  " 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  105 

"That  has  always  been  my  belief,"  answered  the  dog; 
"and  now,  sir,  you  had  better  go  to  sleep  again  and  leave  the 
rest  to  me." 

"Nay,"  answered  the  griffin,  "I  have  no  longer  need  of  a 
servant;  for  now  that  the  king  of  the  serpents  is  dead,  the  rest 
will  never  molest  me.  It  was  only  to  satisfy  his  avarice  that 
his  subjects  dared  to  brave  the  den  of  the  griffin." 

Upon  hearing  this  the  dog  was  exceedingly  delighted;  and 
raising  himself  on  his  hind  paws,  he  begged  the  griffin  most 
movingly  to  let  him  return  to  earth,  to  visit  his  mistress  the 
cat,  and  worry  his  rival  the  fox. 

"You  do  not  serve  an  ungrateful  master,"  answered  the 
griffin.  "  You  shall  return,  and  I  will  teach  you  all  the  craft 
of  our  race,  which  is  much  craftier  than  the  race  of  that  pet- 
tifogger the  fox,  so  that  you  may  be  able  to  cope  with  your 
rival." 

"Ah,  excuse  me,"  said  the  dog,  hastily,  "I  am  equally 
obliged  to  you;  but  I  fancy  honesty  is  a  match  for  cunning 
any  day,  and  I  think  myself  a  great  deal  safer  in  being  a  dog 
of  honour  than  if  I  knew  all  the  tricks  in  the  world." 

"Well,"  said  the  griffin,  a  little  piqued  at  the  dog's  blunt- 
ness,  "do  as  you  please;  I  wish  you  all  possible  success." 

Then  the  griffin  opened  a  secret  door  in  the  side  of  the 
cabin,  and  the  dog  saw  a  broad  path  that  led  at  once  into  the 
wood.  He  thanked  the  griffin  with  all  his  heart,  and  ran 
wagging  his  tail  into  the  open  moonlight.  "Ah,  ah,  master 
fox,"  said  he,  "there  's  no  trap  for  an  honest  dog  that  has  not 
two  doors  to  it,  cunning  as  you  think  yourself." 

With  that  he  curled  his  tail  gallantly  over  his  left  leg,  and 
set  off  on  a  long  trot  to  the  cat's  house.  When  he  was  within 
sight  of  it,  he  stopped  to  refresh  himself  by  a  pool  of  water, 
and  who  should  be  there  but  our  friend  the  magpie. 

"And  what  do  you  want,  friend?"  said  she,  rather  dis- 
dainfully, for  the  dog  looked  somewhat  out  of  case  after  his 
journey. 

"  I  am  going  to  see  my  cousin  the  cat, "  answered  he. 

"  Your  cousin!  marry  come  up,"  said  the  magpie;  "don't 
you  know  she  is  going  to  be  married  to  Reynard  the  fox? 


106  THE   PILGRIMS   OF   THE   RHINE. 

This  is  not  a  time  for  her  to  receive  the  visits  of  a  brute  like 
you." 

These  words  put  the  dog  in  such  a  passion  that  he  very 
nearly  bit  the  magpie  for  her  uncivil  mode  of  communicating 
such  bad  news.  However,  he  curbed  his  temper,  and,  with- 
out answering  her,  went  at  once  to  the  cat's  residence. 

The  cat  was  sitting  at  the  window,  and  no  sooner  did  the 
dog  see  her  than  he  fairly  lost  his  heart;  never  had  he  seen 
so  charming  a  cat  before.  He  advanced,  wagging  his  tail, 
and  with  his  most  insinuating  air,  when  the  cat,  getting  up, 
clapped  the  window  in  his  face,  and  lo!  Eeynard  the  fox  ap- 
peared in  her  stead. 

"  Come  out,  thou  rascal ! "  said  the  dog,  showing  his  teeth ; 
"come  out,  I  challenge  thee  to  single  combat;  I  have  not  for- 
given thy  malice,  and  thou  seest  that  I  am  no  longer  shut  up 
in  the  cave,  and  unable  to  punish  thee  for  thy  wickedness." 

"Go  home,  silly  one!"  answered  the  fox,  sneering;  "thou 
hast  no  business  here,  and  as  for  fighting  thee  —  bah !  "  Then 
the  fox  left  the  window  and  disappeared.  But  the  dog,  thor- 
oughly enraged,  scratched  lustily  at  the  door,  and  made  such 
a  noise,  that  presently  the  cat  herself  came  to  the  window. 

"How  now!  "  said  she,  angrily;  "what  means  all  this  rude- 
ness?   Who  are  you,  and  what  do  you  want  at  my  house?  " 

"Oh,  my  dear  cousin,"  said  the  dog,  "do  not  speak  so  se- 
verely. Know  tliat  I  have  come  here  on  purpose  to  pay  you 
a  visit ;  and,  whatever  you  do,  let  me  beseech  you  not  to  lis- 
ten to  that  villain  Eeynard, —  you  have  no  conception  what  a 
rogue  he  is !  " 

"What!"  said  the  cat,  blushing;  "do  you  dare  to  abuse 
your  betters  in  this  fashion?  I  see  you  have  a  design  on  me. 
Go,  this  instant,  or  —  " 

"Enough,  madam,"  said  the  dog,  proudly;  "you  need  not 
speak  twice  to  me, —  farewell." 

And  he  turned  away  very  slowly,  and  went  under  a  tree, 
where  he  took  up  his  lodgings  for  the  night.  But  the  next 
morning  there  was  an  amazing  commotion  in  tlie  neighbour- 
hood; a  stranger,  of  a  very  different  style  of  travelling  from 
that  of  the  dog,  had  arrived  at  the  dead  of  the  night,  and 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  107 

fixed  his  abode  in  a  large  cavern  hollowed  out  of  a  steep  rock. 
The  noise  he  had  made  in  flying  through  the  air  was  so  great 
that  it  had  awakened  every  bird  and  beast  in  the  parish;  and 
lleynard,  whose  bad  conscience  never  suffered  him  to  sleep 
very  soundly,  putting  his  head  out  of  the  window,  perceived, 
to  his  great  alarm,  that  the  stranger  was  nothing  less  than  a 
monstrous  griffin. 

Now  the  griffins  are  the  richest  beasts  in  the  world ;  and 
that 's  the  reason  they  keep  so  close  under  ground.  When- 
ever it  does  happen  that  they  pay  a  visit  above,  it  is  not  a 
thing  to  be  easily  forgotten. 

The  magpie  was  all  agitation.  What  could  the  griffin  pos- 
sibly want  there?  She  resolved  to  take  a  peep  at  the  cavern, 
and  accordingly  she  hopped  timorously  up  the  rock,  and  pre- 
tended to  be  picking  up  sticks  for  her  nest. 

"  Holla,  ma'am !  "  cried  a  very  rough  voice,  and  she  saw  the 
griffin  putting  his  head  out  of  the  cavern.  "Holla!  you  are 
the  very  lady  I  want  to  see;  you  know  all  the  people  about 
here,  eh?  " 

"All  the  best  company,  your  lordship,  I  certainly  do,"  an- 
swered the  magpie,  dropping  a  courtesy. 

Upon  this  the  griffin  walked  out;  and  smoking  his  pipe 
leisurely  in  the  open  air,  in  order  to  set  the  pie  at  her  ease, 
continued, — 

"  Are  there  any  respectable  beasts  of  good  families  settled 
in  this  neighbourhood?  " 

"Oh,  most  elegant  society,  I  assure  your  lordship,"  cried 
the  pie.  "  I  have  lived  here  myself  these  ten  years,  and  the 
great  heiress,  the  cat  yonder,  attracts  a  vast  number  of 
strangers." 

"Humph!  heiress,  indeed!  much  you  know  about  heir- 
esses !  "  said  the  griffin.  "  There  is  only  one  heiress  in  the 
world,  and  that 's  my  daughter." 

"Bless  me!  has  your  lordship  a  family?  I  beg  you  a  thou- 
sand pardons ;  but  I  only  saw  your  lordship's  own  equipage 
last  night,  and  did  not  know  you  brought  any  one  with  you." 

"My  daughter  went  first,  and  was  safely  lodged  before  I 
arrived.     She  did  not  disturb  you,  I  dare  say,  as  I  did;  for 


108  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

she  sails  along  like  a  swan :  but  I  liave  got  the  gout  in  my 
left  claw,  and  that 's  the  reason  I  puff  and  groan  so  in  taking 
a  journey." 

"  Shall  I  drop  in  upon  Miss  Griffin,  and  see  how  she  is  after 
her  journey?  "  said  the  pie,  advancing. 

"  I  thank  you,  no.  I  don't  intend  her  to  be  seen  while  I 
stay  here, —  it  unsettles  her;  and  I'm  afraid  of  the  young 
beasts  running  away  with  her  if  they  once  heard  how  hand- 
some she  was :  she  's  the  living  picture  of  me,  but  she  's  mon- 
strous giddy!  Not  that  I  should  care  much  if  she  did  go  off 
with  a  beast  of  degree,  were  I  not  obliged  to  pay  her  portion, 
which  is  prodigious;  and  I  don't  like  parting  with  money, 
ma'am,  when  I  've  once  got  it.     Ho,  ho,  ho !  " 

"  You  are  too  witty,  my  lord.  But  if  you  refused  your  con- 
sent? "  said  the  pie,  anxious  to  know  the  whole  family  his- 
tory of  so  grand  a  seigneur. 

*'  I  should  have  to  pay  the  dowry  all  the  same.  It  was  left 
her  by  her  uncle  the  dragon.  But  don't  let  this  go  any 
further." 

"Your  lordship  may  depend  on  my  secrecy.  I  wish  your 
lordship  a  very  good  morning." 

Away  flew  the  pie,  and  she  did  not  stop  till  she  got  to  the 
cat's  house.  The  cat  and  the  fox  were  at  breakfast,  and 
the  fox  had  his  paw  on  his  heart.  *'  Beautiful  scene !  "  cried 
the  pie ;  the  cat  coloured,  and  bade  the  pie  take  a  seat. 

Then  off  went  the  pie's  tongue,  glib,  glib,  glib,  chatter, 
chatter,  chatter.  She  related  to  them  the  whole  story  of  the 
griffin  and  his  daughter,  and  a  great  deal  more  besides,  that 
the  griffin  had  never  told  her. 

The  cat  listened  attentively.  Another  young  heiress  in  the 
neighbourhood  might  be  a  formidable  rival.  "But  is  this 
griffiness  handsome? "  said  she. 

"  Handsome !  "  cried  the  pie ;  "  oh,  if  you  could  have  seen 
the  father !  —  such  a  mouth,  such  eyes,  such  a  complexion ; 
and  he  declares  she's  the  living  picture  of  himself!  But 
what  do  you  say,  Mr.  Reynard, —  you,  who  have  been  so  much 
in  the  world,  have,  perhaps,  seen  the  young  lady?  " 

"Why,  I  can't  say  I  have,"  answered  the  fox,  waking  from 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  109 

a  revery;    "but  she  must  be  wonderfully  rich.     I  dare  say 
that  fool  the  dog  will  be  making  up  to  her." 

"Ah,  by  the  way,"  said  the  pie,  "what  a  fuss  he  made  at 
your  door  yesterday;  why  would  you  not  admit  him,  my 
dear?  " 

"Oh,"  said  the  cat,  demurely,  "Mr.  Eeynard  says  that  he 
is  a  dog  of  very  bad  character,  quite  a  fortune-hunter;  and 
hiding  the  most  dangerous  disposition  to  bite  under  an  ap- 
pearance of  good  nature.  I  hope  he  won't  be  quarrelsome 
with  you,  dear  Reynard!  " 

"With  me?  Oh,  the  poor  wretch,  no! — he  might  bluster 
a  little;  but  he  knows  that  if  I  'm  once  angry  I  'm  a  devil  at 
biting;  —  one  should  not  boast  of  oneself." 

In  the  evening  Reynard  felt  a  strange  desire  to  go  and  see 
the  griffin  smoking  his  pipe;  but  what  could  he  do?  There 
was  the  dog  under  the  opposite  tree  evidently  watching  for 
him,  and  Reynard  had  no  wish  to  prove  himself  that  devil  at 
biting  which  he  declared  he  was.  At  last  he  resolved  to  have 
recourse  to  stratagem  to  get  rid  of  the  dog. 

A  young  buck  of  a  rabbit,  a  sort  of  provincial  fop,  had 
looked  in  upon  his  cousin  the  cat,  to  pay  her  his  respects,  and 
Reynard,  taking  him  aside,  said,  "You  see  that  shabby -look- 
ing dog  under  the  tree?  He  has  behaved  very  ill  to  your 
cousin  the  cat,  and  you  certainly  ought  to  challenge  him. 
Forgive  my  boldness,  nothing  but  respect  for  your  character 
induces  me  to  take  so  great  a  liberty;  you  know  I  would  chas- 
tise the  rascal  myself,  but  what  a  scandal  it  would  make !  If 
I  were  already  married  to  your  cousin,  it  would  be  a  different 
thing.  But  you  know  what  a  story  that  cursed  magpie  would 
hatch  out  of  it !  " 

The  rabbit  looked  very  foolish ;  he  assured  the  fox  he  was 
no  match  for  the  dog;  that  he  was  very  fond  of  his  cousin,  to 
be  sure !  but  he  saw  no  necessity  to  interfere  with  her  domes- 
tic affairs ;  and,  in  short,  he  tried  all  he  possibly  could  to  get 
out  of  the  scrape ;  but  the  fox  so  artfully  played  on  his  vanity, 
so  earnestly  assured  him  that  the  dog  was  the  biggest  coward 
in  the  world  and  would  make  a  humble  apology,  and  so  elo- 
quently represented  to  him  the  glory  he  would  obtain  for 


110  THE  PILGRIMS   OF   THE  RHIXE. 

manifesting  so  mucli  spirit,  that  at  length  the  rabbit  was  per- 
suaded to  go  out  and  deliver  the  challenge. 

"I  '11  be  your  second,"  said  the  fox;  "and  the  great  field  on 
the  other  side  the  wood,  two  miles  hence,  shall  be  the  place 
of  battle :  there  we  shall  be  out  of  observation.  You  go  first, 
I  '11  follow  in  half  an  hour;  and  I  say,  hark!  —  in  case  he  does 
accept  the  challenge,  and  you  feel  the  least  afraid,  I  '11  be  in 
the  field,  and  take  it  off  your  paws  with  the  utmost  pleasure ; 
rely  on  me,  my  dear  sir!  " 

Away  went  the  rabbit.  The  dog  was  a  little  astonished  at 
the  temerity  of  the  poor  creature ;  but  on  hearing  that  the  fox 
was  to  be  present,  willingly  consented  to  repair  to  the  place 
of  conflict.  This  readiness  the  rabbit  did  not  at  all  relish; 
he  went  very  slowly  to  the  field,  and  seeing  no  fox  there,  his 
heart  misgave  him;  and  while  the  dog  was  putting  his  nose 
to  the  ground  to  try  if  he  could  track  the  coming  of  the  fox, 
the  rabbit  slipped  into  a  burrow,  and  left  the  dog  to  walk 
back  again. 

Meanwhile  the  fox  was  already  at  the  rock ;  he  walked  very 
soft-footedly,  and  looked  about  with  extreme  caution,  for  he 
had  a  vague  notion  that  a  griffin-papa  would  not  be  very  civil 
to  foxes. 

Now  there  were  two  holes  in  the  rock, —  one  below,  one 
above,  an  upper  story  and  an  under;  and  while  the  fox  was 
peering  about,  he  saw  a  great  claw  from  the  upper  rock  beck- 
oning to  him. 

"  Ah,  ah !  "  said  the  fox,  "  that 's  the  wanton  young  griffin- 
ess,  I  '11  swear." 

He  approached,  and  a  voice  said, — 

"Charming  Mr.  Eeynard,  do  you  not  think  you  could  de- 
liver an  unfortunate  griffiness  from  a  barbarous  confinement 
in  this  rock?  " 

*'0h,  heavens!"  cried  the  fox,  tenderly,  " what  a  beautiful 
voice !  and,  ah,  my  poor  heart,  what  a  lovely  claw !  Is  it  pos- 
sible that  I  hear  the  daughter  of  my  lord,  the  great  griffin?  " 

"Hush,  flatterer!  not  so  loud,  if  you  please.  My  father  is 
taking  an  evening  stroll,  and  is  very  quick  of  hearing.  He 
has  tied  me  up  by  my  poor  wings  in  the  cavern,  for  he  is 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF   THE  RHINE.  Ill 

mightily  afraid  of  some  beast  running  away  with  me.  You 
know  I  have  all  my  fortune  settled  on  myself." 

"Talk  not  of  fortune,"  said  the  fox;  "but  how  can  I  deliver 
you?     Shall  I  enter  and  gnaw  the  cord?  " 

"Alas!"  answered  the  griffiness,  "it  is  an  immense  chain 
I  am  bound  with.  However,  you  may  come  in  and  talk  more 
at  your  ease." 

The  fox  peeped  cautiously  all  round,  and  seeing  no  sign  of 
the  griffin,  he  entered  the  lower  cave  and  stole  upstairs  to  the 
upper  story;  but  as  he  went  on,  he  saw  immense  piles  of 
jewels  and  gold,  and  all  sorts  of  treasure,  so  that  the  old 
griffin  might  well  have  laughed  at  the  poor  cat  being  called 
an  heiress.  The  fox  was  greatly  pleased  at  such  indisputable 
signs  of  wealth,  and  he  entered  the  upper  cave,  resolved  to  be 
transported  with  the  charms  of  the  griffiness. 

There  was,  however,  a  great  chasm  between  the  landing- 
place  and  the  spot  where  the  young  lady  was  chained,  and  he 
found  it  impossible  to  pass;  the  cavern  was  very  dark,  but  he 
saw  enough  of  the  figure  of  the  griffiness  to  perceive,  in  spite 
of  her  petticoat,  that  she  was  the  image  of  her  father,  and  the 
most  hideous  heiress  that  the  earth  ever  saw ! 

However,  he  swallowed  his  disgust,  and  poured  forth  such 
a  heap  of  compliments  that  the  griffiness  appeared  entirely 
won. 

He  implored  her  to  fly  with  him  the  first  moment  she  was 
unchained. 

"  That  is  impossible, "  said  she ;  "  for  my  father  never  un- 
chains me  except  in  his  presence,  and  then  I  cannot  stir  out 
of  his  sight." 

"The  wretch!  "  cried  Reynard,  "what  is  to  be  done?  " 

"Why,  there  is  only  one  thing  I  know  of,"  answered  the 
griffiness,  "which  is  this:  I  always  make  his  soup  for  him. 
and  if  I  could  mix  something  in  it  that  would  put  him  fast 
to  sleep  before  he  had  time  to  chain  me  up  again  I  might  slip 
down  and  carry  off  all  the  treasure  below  on  my  back." 

"Charming!"  exclaimed  Reynard;  "what  invention!  what 
wit!     I  will  go  and  get  some  poppies  directly." 

"Alas!"  said  the  griffiness,  "poppies  have  no  effect  upon 


112  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

griffins.  The  only  thing  that  can  ever  put  my  father  fast  to 
sleep  is  a  nice  young  cat  boiled  up  in  his  soup;  it  is  astonish- 
ing what  a  charm  that  has  upon  him!  But  where  to  get  a 
cat?  —  it  must  be  a  maiden  cat  too!" 

Reynard  was  a  little  startled  at  so  singular  an  opiate. 
"But,"  thought  he,  "griffins  are  not  like  the  rest  of  the 
world,  and  so  rich  an  heiress  is  not  to  be  won  by  ordinary 
means." 

"I  do  know  a  cat, —  a  maiden  cat,"  said  he,  after  a  short 
pause;  "but  I  feel  a  little  repugnance  at  the  thought  of  hav- 
ing her  boiled  in  the  griffin's  soup.  Would  not  a  dog  do  as 
well?  " 

"Ah,  base  thing!"  said  the  griffiness,  appearing  to  weep; 
"you  are  in  love  with  the  cat,  I  see  it;  go  and  marry  her, 
poor  dwarf  that  she  is,  and  leave  me  to  die  of  grief." 

In  vain  the  fox  protested  that  he  did  not  care  a  straw  for 
the  cat;  nothing  could  now  appease  the  griffiness  but  his  posi- 
tive assurance  that  come  what  would  poor  puss  should  be 
brought  to  the  cave  and  boiled  for  the  griffin's  soup. 

"But  how  will  you  get  her  here?"  said  the  griffiness. 

"  Ah,  leave  that  to  me, "  said  Reynard.  "  Only  put  a  basket 
out  of  the  window  and  draw  it  up  by  a  cord ;  the  moment  it 
arrives  at  the  window,  be  sure  to  clap  your  claw  on  the  cat  at 
once,  for  she  is  terribly  active." 

"Tush!  "  answered  the  heiress;  "a  pretty  griffiness  I  should 
be  if  I  did  not  know  how  to  catch  a  cat !  " 

"  But  this  must  be  when  your  father  is  out?  "  said  Reynard. 

"Certainly;  he  takes  a  stroll  every  evening  at  sunset." 

"Let  it  be  to-morrow,  then,"  said  Reynard,  impatient  for 
the  treasure. 

This  being  arranged,  Reynard  thought  it  time  to  decamp. 
He  stole  down  the  stairs  again,  and  tried  to  filch  some  of  the 
treasure  by  the  way;  but  it  was  too  heavy  for  him  to  carry, 
and  he  was  forced  to  acknowledge  to  himself  that  it  was  im- 
possible to  get  the  treasure  without  taking  the  griffiness  (whose 
back  seemed  prodigiously  strong)  into  the  bargain. 

He  returned  home  to  the  cat,  and  when  he  entered  her  house, 
and  saw  how  ordinary  everything  looked  after  the  jewels  in 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF   THE  RHINE.  113 

the  griffin's  cave,  he  quite  wondered  how  he  had  ever  thought 
the  cat  had  the  least  i)retensions  to  good  looks.  However,  he 
concealed  his  wicked  design,  and  his  mistress  thought  he  had 
never  appeared  so  amiable. 

"Only  guess,"  said  he,  "where  I  have  been!  — to  our  new 
neighbour  the  griffin;  a  most  charming  person,  thoroughly 
affable,  and  quite  the  air  of  the  court.  As  for  that  silly  mag- 
pie, the  griffin  saw  her  character  at  once;  and  it  was  all  a 
hoax  about  his  daughter, —  he  has  no  daughter  at  all.  You 
know,  my  dear,  hoaxing  is  a  fashionable  amusement  among 
the  great.  He  says  he  has  heard  of  nothing  but  your  beauty, 
and  on  my  telling  him  we  were  going  to  be  married,  he  has 
insisted  upon  giving  a  great  ball  and  su^^per  in  honour  of  the 
event.  In  fact,  he  is  a  gallant  old  fellow,  and  dying  to  see 
you.     Of  course,  I  was  obliged  to  accept  the  invitation." 

"You  could  not  do  otherwise,"  said  the  unsuspecting  young 
creature,  who,  as  I  before  said,  was  very  susceptible  to. 
flattery. 

"And  only  think  how  delicate  his  attentions  are,"  said  the 
fox.  "As  he  is  very  badly  lodged  for  a  beast  of  his  rank,  and 
his  treasure  takes  up  the  whole  of  the  ground  floor,  he  is. 
forced  to  give  the  fete  in  the  upper  story,  so  he  hangs  out  a 
basket  for  his  guests,  and  draws  them  up  with  his  own  claw.. 
How  condescending!     But  the  great  are  so  amiable!" 

The  cat,  brought  up  in  seclusion,  was  all  delight  at  the  idea, 
of  seeing  such  high  life,  and  the  lovers  talked  of  nothing  else 
all  the  next  day, —  when  Reynard,  towards  evening,  putting- 
his  head  out  of  the  window,  saw  his  old  friend  the  dog  lying 
as  usual  and  watching  him  very  grimly.  "Ah,  that  cursed 
creature!  I  had  quite  forgotten  him;  what  is  to  be  done 
now?  He  would  make  no  bones  of  me  if  he  once  saw  me 
set  foot  out  of  doors." 

With  that,  the  fox  began  to  cast  in  his  head  how  he  should 
get  rid  of  his  rival,  and  at  length  he  resolved  on  a  very  nota- 
ble project;  he  desired  the  cat  to  set  out  first,  and  wait  for 
him  at  a  turn  in  the  road  a  little  way  off.  "For,"  said  he, 
"if  we  go  together  we  shall  certainly  be  insulted  b\-  the  dog; 
and  he  will  know  that  in  the  presence  of  a  lady,  the  custom 

8 


11-1  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

of  a  beast  of  my  fashion  will  not  suffer  me  to  avenge  the 
affront.  But  when  I  am  alone,  the  creature  is  such  a  coward 
that  he  will  not  dare  say  his  soul's  his  own;  leave  the  door 
open  and  I  '11  follow  immediately." 

The  cat's  mind  was  so  completely  poisoned  against  her 
cousin  that  she  implicitly  believed  this  account  of  his  char- 
acter; and  accordingly,  with  many  recommendations  to  her 
lover  not  to  sully  his  dignity  by  getting  into  any  sort  of  quar- 
rel with  the  dog,  she  set  of£  first. 

The  dog  went  up  to  her  very  humbly,  and  begged  her  to 
allow  him  to  say  a  few  words  to  her;  but  she  received  him  so 
haughtily,  that  his  spirit  was  up ;  and  he  walked  back  to  the 
tree  more  than  ever  enraged  against  his  rival.  But  what  was 
his  joy  when  he  saw  that  the  cat  had  left  the  door  open! 
"Now,  wretch,"  thought  he,  "you  cannot  escape  me!  "  So  he 
walked  briskly  in  at  the  back  door.  He  was  greatly  surprised 
to  find  Eeynard  lying  down  in  the  straw,  panting  as  if  his 
heart  would  break,  and  rolling  his  eyes  in  the  pangs  of  death. 

"Ah,  friend,"  said  the  fox,  with  a  faltering  voice,  "you  are 
avenged,  my  hour  is  come;  I  am  just  going  to  give  up  the 
ghost:  put  your  paw  upon  mine,  and  say  you  forgive  me." 

Despite  his  anger,  the  generous  dog  could  not  set  tooth  on 
a  dying  foe. 

"You  have  served  me  a  shabby  trick,"  said  he;  "you  have 
left  me  to  starve  in  a  hole,  and  you  have  evidently  maligned 
me  with  my  cousin:  certainly  I  meant  to  be  avenged  on  you; 
but  if  you  are  really  dying,  that  alters  the  affair." 

"  Oh,  oh !  "  groaned  the  fox,  very  bitterly ;  "  I  am  past  help ; 
the  poor  cat  is  gone  for  Doctor  Ape,  but  he  '11  never  come  in 
time.  What  a  thing  it  is  to  have  a  bad  conscience  on  one's 
death-bed!  But  wait  till  the  cat  returns,  and  I  '11  do  you  full 
justice  with  her  before  I  die. " 

The  good-natured  dog  was  much  moved  at  seeing  his  mortal 
enemy  in  such  a  state,  and  endeavoured  as  well  as  he  could  to 
console  him. 

"  Oh,  oh ! "  said  the  fox ;  "  I  am  so  parched  in  the  throat,  I 
am  burning;  "  and  he  hung  his  tongue  out  of  his  mouth,  and 
rolled  his  eyes  more  fearfully  than  ever. 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHIXE.  115 

"Is  there  no  water  here?  "  said  the  dog,  looking  round. 

"  Alas,  no !  —  yet  stay !  yes,  now  I  think  of  it,  there  is  some 
in  that  little  hole  in  the  wall ;  but  how  to  get  at  it !  It  is  so 
high  that  I  can't,  in  my  poor  weak  state,  climb  up  to  it;  and 
I  dare  not  ask  such  a  favour  of  one  I  have  injured  so  much." 

"Don't  talk  of  it,"  said  the  dog:  "but  the  hole's  very 
small,  I  could  not  put  my  nose  through  it." 

"No;  but  if  you  just  climb  up  on  that  stone,  and  thrust 
your  paw  into  the  hole,  you  can  dip  it  into  the  water,  and  so 
cool  my  poor  parched  mouth.  Oh,  what  a  thing  it  is  to  have 
a  bad  conscience !  " 

The  dog  sprang  upon  the  stone,  and,  getting  on  his  hind 
legs,  thrust  his  front  paw  into  the  hole;  when  suddenly  Eey- 
nard  pulled  a  string  that  he  had  concealed  under  the  straw, 
and  the  dog  found  his  paw  caught  tight  to  the  wall  in  a  run- 
ning noose. 

"  Ah,  rascal !  "  said  he,  turning  round ;  but  the  fox  leaped 
up  gayly  from  the  straw,  and  fastening  the  string  with  his 
teeth  to  a  nail  in  the  other  end  of  the  wall,  walked  out,  cry- 
ing, "Good-by,  my  dear  friend;  have  a  care  how  you  believe 
hereafter  in  sudden  conversions !  "  So  he  left  the  dog  on  his 
hind  legs  to  take  care  of  the  house. 

Reynard  found  the  cat  waiting  for  him  where  he  had  ap- 
pointed, and  they  walked  lovingly  together  till  they  came  to 
the  cave.  It  was  now  dark,  and  they  saw  the  basket  waiting 
below;  the  fox  assisted  the  poor  cat  into  it.  "There  is  only 
room  for  one, "  said  he,  "  you  must  go  first !  "  Up  rose  the 
basket;  the  fox  heard  a  piteous  mew,  and  no  more. 

"So  much  for  the  griffin's  soup!  "  thought  he. 

He  waited  patiently  for  some  time,  when  the  griffiness, 
waving  her  claw  from  the  window,  said  cheerfully,  "  All 's 
right,  my  dear  Reynard;  my  papa  has  finished  his  soup,  and 
sleeps  as  sound  as  a  rock!  All  the  noise  in  the  world  would 
not  wake  him  now,  till  he  has  slept  off  the  boiled  cat,  which 
won't  be  these  twelve  hours.  Come  and  assist  me  in  packing 
up  the  treasure ;  I  should  be  sorry  to  leave  a  single  diamond 
behind." 

"So  should  I,"  quoth  the  fox.     "Stay,  I  '11  come  round  by 


116  THE  PILGRIMS  OF   THE  EHINE. 

the  lower  hole:  why,  the  door  's  shut!  pray,  beautiful  griffin- 
ess,  open  it  to  thy  impatient  adorer. " 

"Alas,  my  father  has  hid  the  key!  I  never  know  where  he 
places  it.  You  must  come  up  by  the  basket;  see,  I  will 
lower  it  for  you." 

The  fox  was  a  little  loth  to  trust  himself  in  the  same  con- 
veyance that  had  taken  his  mistress  to  be  boiled;  but  the  most 
cautious  grow  rash  when  money  's  to  be  gained,  and  avarice 
can  trap  even  a  fox.  So  he  put  himself  as  comfortably  as  he 
could  into  the  basket,  and  up  he  went  in  an  instant.  It 
rested,  however,  just  before  it  reached  the  window,  and  the 
fox  felt,  with  a  slight  shudder,  the  claw  of  the  griffiness 
stroking  his  back. 

"Oh,  what  a  beautiful  coat!  "  quoth  she,  caressingly. 
"You  are  too  kind,"  said  the  fox;   "but  you  can  feel  it 
more  at  your  leisure  when  I  am  once  up.     Make  haste,  I  be- 
seech you." 

"Oh,  what  a  beautiful  bushy  tail!  Never  did  I  feel  such 
a  tail." 

"It  is  entirely  at  your  service,  sweet  griffiness,"  said  the 
fox;   "but  pray  let  me  in.     Why  lose  an  instant?" 

"No,  never  did  I  feel  such  a  tail!  No  wonder  you  are  so 
successful  with  the  ladies." 

"Ah,  beloved  griffiness,  my  tail  is  yours  to  eternity,  but  you 
pinch  it  a  little  too  hard." 

Scarcely  had  he  said  this,  when  down  dropped  the  basket, 
but  not  with  the  fox  in  it;  he  found  himself  caught  by  the 
tail,  and  dangling  half  way  down  the  rock,  by  the  help  of  the 
very  same  sort  of  pulley  wherewith  he  had  snared  the  dog. 
I  leave  you  to  guess  his  consternation;  he  yelped  out  as  loud 
as  he  could, —  for  it  hurts  a  fox  exceedingly  to  be  hanged  by 
his  tail  with  his  head  downwards, —  when  the  door  of  the  rock 
opened,  and  out  stalked  the  griffin  himself,  smoking  his 
pipe,  with  a  vast  crowd  of  all  the  fashionable  beasts  in  the 
neighbourhood. 

"Oho,  brother,"  said  the  bear,  laughing  fit  to  kill  himself; 
"who  ever  saw  a  fox  hanged  by  the  tail  before?  " 

"You  '11  have  need  of  a  physician,"  quoth  Doctor  Ape. 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF   THE  RHINE.  117 

"A  pretty  matcli,  indeed;  a  griffiness  for  such  a  creature  as 
you !  "  said  the  goat,  strutting  b}^  him. 

The  fox  grinned  with  pain,  and  said  nothing.  But  that 
which  hurt  him  most  was  the  compassion  of  a  dull  fool  of  a 
donkey,  who  assured  him  with  great  gravity  that  he  saw 
nothing  at  all  to  laugh  at  in  his  situation! 

"At  all  events,"  said  the  fox,  at  last,  "cheated,  gulled,  be- 
trayed as  I  am,  I  have  played  the  same  trick  to  the  dog.  Go 
and  laugh  at  him,  gentlemen ;  he  deserves  it  as  much  as  I  can, 
I  assure  you." 

"Pardon  me,"  said  the  griffin,  taking  the  pipe  out  of  his 
mouth;   "one  never  laughs  at  the  honest." 

"And  see,"  said  the  bear,  "here  he  is." 

And  indeed  the  dog  had,  after  much  effort,  gnawed  the 
string  in  two,  and  extricated  his  paw;  the  scent  of  the  fox 
had  enabled  him  to  track  his  footsteps,  and  here  he  arrived, 
burning  for  vengeance  and  finding  himself  already  avenged. 

But  his  first  thought  was  for  his  dear  cousin.  "Ah,  where 
is  she?"  he  cried  movingly;  "without  doubt  that  villain 
Keynard  has  served  her  some  scurvy  trick." 

"I  fear  so  indeed,  my  old  friend,"  answered  the  griffin; 
"but  don't  grieve, —  after  all,  she  was  nothing  particular. 
You  shall  marry  my  daughter  the  griffiness,  and  succeed  to  all 
the  treasure ;  ay,  and  all  the  bones  that  you  once  guarded  so 
faithfully." 

"Talk  not  to  me,"  said  the  faithful  dog.  "I  want  none  of 
your  treasure;  and,  though  I  don't  mean  to  be  rude,  your 
griffiness  may  go  to  the  devil.  I  will  run  over  the  world, 
but  I  will  find  my  dear  cousin." 

"See  her  then,"  said  the  griffin;  and  the  beautiful  cat,  more 
beautiful  than  ever,  rushed  out  of  the  cavern,  and  threw  her- 
self into  the  dog's  paws. 

A  pleasant  scene  this  for  the  fox!  He  had  skill  enough  in 
the  female  heart  to  know  that  it  may  excuse  many  little  infi- 
delities, but  to  be  boiled  alive  for  a  griffin's  soup  —  no,  the 
offence  was  inexpiable. 

"You  understand  me,  Mr.  Reynard,"  said  the  griffin,  "I 
have  no  daughter,  and  it  was  me  you  made  love  to.     Know- 


118  THE  PILGRIMS   OF   THE  RHINE. 

ing  wliat  sort  of  a  creatare  a  magpie  is,  I  amused  myself 
with  hoaxing  her, —  the  fashionable  amusement  at  court,  you 
know. " 

The  fox  made  a  mighty  struggle,  and  leaped  on  the  ground, 
leaving  his  tail  behind  him.     It  did  not  grow  again  in  a  hurry. 

"  See, "  said  the  griffin,  as  the  beasts  all  laughed  at  the  fig- 
ure Keynard  made  running  into  the  wood,  *'  the  dog  beats  the 
fox  with  the  ladies,  after  all ;  and  cunning  as  he  is  in  every- 
thing else,  the  fox  is  the  last  creature  that  should  ever  think 
of  making  love !  " 

"  Charming !  "  cried  Nymphalin,  clasping  her  hands ;  "  it  is 
just  the  sort  of  story  I  like." 

"And  I  suppose,  sir,"  said  Nip,  pertly,  "that  the  dog  and 
the  cat  lived  very  happily  ever  afterwards?  Indeed  the  nup- 
tial felicity  of  a  dog  and  cat  is  proverbial !  " 

"  I  dare  say  they  lived  much  the  same  as  any  other  mar- 
ried couple,"  answered  the  prince. 


CHAPTEE  XIII. 

THE   TOMB    OF   A    FATHER   OF   MANY   CHILDREN. 

The  feast  being  now  ended,  as  well  as  the  story,  the  fairies 
wound  their  way  homeward  by  a  different  path,  till  at  length 
a  red  steady  light  glowed  through  the  long  basaltic  arches 
upon  them,  like  the  Demon  Hunters'  fires  in  the  Forest  of 
Pines. 

The  prince  sobered  in  his  pace.  "You  approach,"  said  he, 
in  a  grave  tone,  "  the  greatest  of  our  temples ;  you  will  wit- 
ness the  tomb  of  a  mighty  founder  of  our  race !  "  An  awe 
crept  over  the  queen,  in  spite  of  herself.  Tracking  the  fires 
in  silence,  they  came  to  a  vast  space,  in  the  midst  of  which 
was  a  long  gray  block  of  stone,  such  as  the  traveller  finds 
amidst  the  dread  silence  of  Egyptian  Thebes. 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF   THE  RHINE.  119 

And  on  this  stone  lay  the  gigantic  figure  of  a  man, —  dead, 
but  not  death-like,  for  invisible  spells  had  preserved  the  flesh 
and  the  long  hair  for  untold  ages ;  and  beside  him  lay  a  rude 
instrument  of  music,  and  at  his  feet  was  a  sword  and  a  hun- 
ter's spear;  and  above,  the  rock  wound,  hollowed  and  roofless, 
to  the  upper  air,  and  daylight  came  through,  sickened  and 
pale,  beneath  red  flres  that  burned  everlastingly  around  him, 
on  such  simple  altars  as  belong  to  a  savage  race.  But  the 
place  was  not  solitary,  for  many  motionless  but  not  lifeless 
shapes  sat  on  large  blocks  of  stone  beside  the  tomb.  There 
was  the  wizard,  wrapped  in  his  long  black  mantle,  and  his 
face  covered  with  his  hands;  there  was  the  uncouth  and  de- 
formed dwarf,  gibbering  to  himself;  there  sat  the  household 
elf;  there  glowered  from  a  gloomy  rent  in  the  wall,  with  glit- 
tering eyes  and  shining  scale,  the  enormous  dragon  of  the 
North.  An  aged  crone  in  rags,  leaning  on  a  staff,  and  gazing 
malignantly  on  the  visitors,  with  bleared  but  fiery  eyes,  stood 
opposite  the  tomb  of  the  gigantic  dead.  And  now  the  fairies 
themselves  completed  the  group !  But  all  was  dumb  and  un- 
utterably silent, —  the  silence  that  floats  over  some  antique 
city  of  the  desert,  when,  for  the  first  time  for  a  hundred  cen- 
turies, a  living  foot  enters  its  desolate  remains;  the  silence 
that  belongs  to  the  dust  of  eld, —  deep,  solemn,  palpable,  and 
sinking  into  the  heart  with  a  leaden  and  death-like  weight. 
Even  the  English  fairy  spoke  not;  she  held  her  breath,  and 
gazing  on  the  tomb,  she  saw,  in  rude  vast  characters, — 

THE  TEUTON. 

"  We  are  all  that  remain  of  his  religion !  "  said  the  prince, 
as  they  turned  from  the  dread  temple. 


120  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  EHINE. 


CHAPTEK   XIV. 

THE   FAIKY's    cave,    AKD    THE   FAIRy's    WISH. 

It  was  evening;  and  the  fairies  were  dancing  beneath  the 
twilight  star. 

"And  why  art  thou  sad,  my  violet?"  said  the  prince;  "for 
thine  eyes  seek  the  ground !  " 

"Now  that  I  have  found  thee,"  answered  the  queen,  "and 
now  that  I  feel  what  happy  love  is  to  a  fairy,  I  sigh  over  that 
love  which  I  have  lately  witnessed  among  mortals,  but  the 
bud  of  whose  happiness  already  conceals  the  worm.  For  well 
didst  thou  say,  my  prince,  that  we  are  linked  with  a  m3-steri- 
Gus  affinity  to  mankind,  and  whatever  is  pure  and  gentle 
amongst  them  speaks  at  once  to  our  sympathy,  and  com- 
mands our  vigils." 

"And  most  of  all,"  said  the  German  fairy,  "are  they  who 
love  under  our  watch ;  for  love  is  the  golden  chain  that  binds 
all  in  the  universe :  love  lights  up  alike  the  star  and  the  glow- 
worm; and  wherever  there  is  love  in  men's  lot,  lies  the  secret 
affinity  with  men,  and  with  things  divine." 

"But  with  the  human  race,"  said  Nymi^halin,  "there  is  no 
love  that  outlasts  the  hour,  for  either  death  ends,  or  custom 
alters.  When  the  blossom  comes  to  fruit,  it  is  plucked  and 
seen  no  more;  and  therefore,  when  I  behold  true  love  sen- 
tenced to  an  early  grave,  I  comfort  myself  that  I  shall  not  at 
least  behold  the  beauty  dimmed,  and  the  softness  of  the  heart 
hardened  into  stone.  Yet,  my  prince,  while  still  the  pulse 
can  beat,  and  the  warm  blood  flow,  in  that  beautiful  form 
which  I  have  watched  over  of  late,  let  me  not  desert  her;  still 
let  my  influence  keep  the  sky  fair,  and  the  breezes  pure ;  still 
let  me  drive  the  vapour  from  the  moon,  and  the  clouds  from 
the  faces  of  the  stars ;  still  let  me  fill  her  dreams  with  tender 
and  brilliant  images,  and  glass  in  the  mirror  of  sleep  the 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  121 

happiest  visions  of  fairy -land;  still  let  me  pour  over  her  eyes 
that  magic,  which  suffers  them  to  see  no  fault  in  one  in  whom 
she  has  garnered  up  her  soul!  And  as  death  comes  slowly  on, 
still  let  me  rob  the  spectre  of  its  terror,  and  the  grave  of  its 
sting;  so  that,  all  gently  and  unconscious  to  herself,  life  may 
glide  into  the  Great  Ocean  where  the  shadows  lie,  and  the 
spirit  without  guile  may  be  severed  from  its  mansion  without 
pain!  " 

The  wish  of  the  fairy  was  fulfilled. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE    BANKS     OP    THE    RHINE.  —  FKOM    THE    DRACHENFELS     TO 

BROHL.  AN   INCIDENT   THAT    SUFFICES    IN   THIS    TALE   FOR 

AN   EPOCH. 

From  the  Drachenfels  commences  the  true  glory  of  the 
Rhine;  and  once  more  Gertrude's  eyes  conquered  the  languor 
that  crept  gradually  over  them  as  she  gazed  on  the  banks 
around. 

Fair  blew  the  breeze,  and  freshly  curled  the  waters;  and 
Gertrude  did  not  feel  the  vulture  that  had  fixed  its  talons 
within  her  breast.  The  Rhine  widens,  like  a  broad  lake,  be- 
tween the  Drachenfels  and  Unkel;  villages  are  scattered  over 
the  extended  plain  on  the  left;  on  the  right  is  the  Isle  of 
Werth  and  the  houses  of  Oberwinter;  the  hills  are  covered 
with  vines;  and  still  Gertrude  turned  back  with  a  lingering 
gaze  to  the  lofty  crest  of  the  Seven  Hills. 

On,  on  —  and  the  spires  of  Unkel  rose  above  a  curve  in  the 
banks,  and  on  the  opposite  shore  stretched  those  wondrous 
basaltic  columns  which  extend  to  the  middle  of  the  river,  and 
when  the  Rhine  runs  low,  you  may  see  them  like  an  engulfed 
city  beneath  the  waves.  You  then  view  the  ruins  of  Okken- 
fels,  and  hear  the  voice  of  the  pastoral  Gasbach  pouring  its 
waters  into  the  Rhine.     From  amidst  the  clefts  of  the  rocks 


122  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

the  vine  peeps  luxuriantly  forth,  and  gives  a  richness  and 
colouring  to  what  ISTature,  left  to  herself,  intended  for  the 
stern. 

"But  turn  your  eye  backward  to  the  right,"  said  Trevj-lyan; 
"  those  banks  were  formerly  the  special  haunt  of  the  bold  rob- 
bers of  the  Khine,  and  from  amidst  the  entangled  brakes  that 
then  covered  the  ragged  cliffs  they  rushed  upon  their  prey. 
In  the  gloomy  canvas  of  those  feudal  days  what  vigorous  and 
mighty  images  were  crowded!  A  robber's  life  amidst  these 
mountains,  and  beside  this  mountain  stream,  must  have  been 
the  very  poetry  of  the  spot  carried  into  action." 

They  rested  at  Brohl,  a  small  town  between  two  mountains. 
On  the  summit  of  one  you  see  the  gray  remains  of  Rheinech. 
There  is  something  weird  and  preternatural  about  the  aspect 
of  this  place ;  its  soil  betrays  signs  that  in  the  former  ages 
(from  which  even  tradition  is  fast  fading  away)  some  volcano 
here  exhausted  its  fires.  The  stratum  of  the  earth  is  black  and 
jiitchy,  and  the  springs  beneath  it  are  of  a  dark  and  graveo- 
lent  water.  Here  the  stream  of  the  Brohlbach  falls  into  the 
Rhine,  and  in  a  valley  rich  with  oak  and  pine,  and  full  of 
caverns,  which  are  not  without  their  traditionary  inmates, 
stands  the  castle  of  Schweppenbourg,  which  our  party  failed 
not  to  visit. 

Gertrude  felt  fatigued  on  their  return,  and  Trevylyan  sat 
by  her  in  the  little  inn,  while  Vane  went  forth,  with  the  cu- 
riosity of  science,  to  examine  the  strata  of  the  soil. 

They  conversed  in  the  frankness  of  their  plighted  troth 
upon  those  topics  which  are  only  for  lovers :  upon  the  bright 
chapter  in  the  history  of  their  love;  their  first  meeting;  their 
first  impressions;  the  little  incidents  in  their  present  jour- 
ney,—  incidents  noticed  by  themselves  alone;  that  life  tcithin 
life  which  two  persons  know  together, — which  one  knows  not 
without  the  other,  which  ceases  to  both  the  instant  they  are 
divided. 

"I  know  not  what  the  love  of  others  may  be,"  said  Ger- 
trude, "but  ours  seems  different  from  all  of  which  I  have  read. 
Books  tell  us  of  jealousies  and  misconstructions,  and  the  ne- 
cessity of  an  absence,  the  sweetness  of  a  quarrel;  but  we, 


THE   PILGRIMS   OF   THE   RHINE.  123 

dearest  Albert,  have  had  no  experience  of  these  passages  in 
love.  We  have  never  misunderstood  each  other;  ive  have  no 
reconciliation  to  look  back  to.  When  was  there  ever  occasion 
for  me  to  ask  forgiveness  from  you?  Our  love  is  made  up 
only  of  one  memory, —  unceasing  kindness!  A  harsh  word, 
a  wronging  thought,  never  broke  in  upon  the  happiness  we 
have  felt  and  feel." 

"Dearest  Gertrude,"  said  Trevylyan,  "that  character  of  our 
love  is  caught  from  you;  you,  the  soft,  the  gentle,  have  been 
its  pervading  genius;  and  the  well  has  been  smooth  and  pure, 
for  you  were  the  spirit  that  lived  within  its  depths." 

And  to  such  talk  succeeded  silence  still  more  sweet, —  the 
silence  of  the  hushed  and  overflowing  heart.  The  last  voices 
of  the  birds,  the  sun  slowly  sinking  in  the  west,  the  fragrance 
of  descending  dews,  filled  them  with  that  deep  and  mysterious 
sympathy  which  exists  between  Love  and  Nature. 

It  was  after  such  a  silence  —  a  long  silence,  that  seemed 
but  as  a  moment  —  that  Trevylyan  spoke,  but  Gertrude  an- 
swered not;  and,  yearning  once  more  for  her  sweet  voice,  he 
turned  and  saw  that  she  had  fainted  away. 

This  was  the  first  indication  of  the  point  to  which  her  in- 
creasing debility  had  arrived.  Trevylyan's  heart  stood  still, 
and  then  beat  violently;  a  thousand  fears  crept  over  him;  he 
clasped  her  in  his  arms,  and  bore  her  to  the  open  window. 
The  setting  sun  fell  upon  her  countenance,  from  which  the 
play  of  the  young  heart  and  warm  fancy  had  fled,  and  in  its 
deep  and  still  repose  the  ravages  of  disease  were  darkly  visi- 
ble. What  were  then  his  emotions!  His  heart  was  like 
stone;  but  he  felt  a  rush  as  of  a  torrent  to  his  temples:  his 
eyes  grew  dizzy, —  he  was  stunned  by  the  greatness  of  his 
despair.  For  the  last  week  he  had  taken  hope  for  his  com- 
panion; Gertrude  had  seemed  so  much  stronger,  for  her  hap- 
piness had  given  her  a  false  support.  And  though  there  had 
been  moments  when,  watching  the  bright  hectic  come  and  go, 
and  her  step  linger,  and  the  breath  heave  short,  he  had  felt 
the  hope  suddenly  cease,  yet  never  had  he  known  till  now 
that  fulness  of  anguish,  that  dread  certainty  of  the  worst, 
which  the  calm,  fair  face  before  him  struck  into  his  soul;  and 


124  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

mixed  with  this  agony  as  he  gazed  was  all  the  passion  of  the 
most  ardent  love.  For  there  she  lay  in  his  arms,  the  gentle 
breath  rising  from  lips  where  the  rose  yet  lingered,  and  the 
long,  rich  hair,  soft  and  silken  as  an  infant's,  stealing  from 
its  confinement:  everything  that  belonged  to  Gertrude's  beauty 
was  so  inexpressibly  soft  and  pure  and  youthful!  Scarcely 
seventeen,  she  seemed  much  younger  than  she  was ;  her  figure 
had  sunken  from  its  roundness,  but  still  how  light,  how  lovely 
were  its  wrecks !  the  neck  whiter  than  snow,  the  fair  small 
hand!  Her  weight  was  scarcely  felt  in  the  arms  of  her  lover; 
and  he  —  what  a  contrast !  —  was  in  all  the  pride  and  flower 
of  glorious  manhood !  His  was  the  lofty  brow,  the  wreathing 
hair,  the  haughty  eye,  the  elastic  form;  and  upon  this  frail, 
perishable  thing  had  he  fixed  all  his  heart,  all  the  hopes  of 
his  youth,  the  pride  of  his  manhood,  his  schemes,  his  ener- 
gies, his  ambition! 

"  Oh,  Gertrude ! ''  cried  he,  "  is  it  —  is  it  thus  —  is  there  in- 
deed no  hope?  " 

And  Gertrude  now  slowly  recovering,  and  opening  her  eyes 
upon  Trevylyan's  face,  the  revulsion  was  so  great,  his  emo- 
tions so  overpowering,  that,  clasping  her  to  his  bosom,  as  if 
even  death  should  not  tear  her  away  from  him,  he  wept  over 
her  in  an  agony  of  tears;  not  those  tears  that  relieve  the 
heart,  but  the  fiery  rain  of  the  internal  storm,  a  sign  of  the 
fierce  tumult  that  shook  the  very  core  of  his  existence,  not  a 
relief. 

Awakened  to  herself,  Gertrude,  in  amazement  and  alarm, 
threw  her  arms  around  his  neck,  and,  looking  wistfully  into 
his  face,  implored  him  to  speak  to  her, 

"Was  it  my  illness,  love?  "  said  she;  and  the  music  of  her 
voice  only  conveyed  to  him  the  thought  of  how  soon  it  would 
be  dumb  to  him  forever.  "Nay,"  she  continued  winningly, 
"it  was  but  the  heat  of  the  day;  I  am  better  now, —  I  am 
well ;  there  is  no  cause  to  be  alarmed  for  me :  "  and  with  all 
the  innocent  fondness  of  extreme  youth,  she  kissed  the  burn- 
ing tears  from  his  eyes. 

There  was  a  playfulness,  an  innocence  in  this  poor  girl,  so 
unconscious  as  yet  of  her  destiny,  which  rendered  her  fate 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF   THE  RHINE.  125 

doubly  toucliing,  and  which  to  the  stern  Trevylyan,  hack- 
neyed by  the  worki,  made  her  irresistible  charm ;  and  now  as 
she  put  aside  her  hair,  and  looked  up  gratefully,  yet  plead- 
ingly, into  his  face,  he  could  scarce  refrain  from  pouring  out 
to  her  the  confession  of  his  anguish  and  despair.  But  the 
necessity  of  self-control,  the  necessity  of  concealing  from  her 
a  knowledge  which  might  only,  by  impressing  her  imagina- 
tion, expedite  her  doom,  while  it  would  embitter  to  her  mind 
the  unconscious  enjoyment  of  the  hour,  nerved  and  manned 
him.  He  checked  by  those  violent  efforts  which  only  men 
can  make,  the  evidence  of  his  emotions ;  and  endeavoured,  by 
a  rapid  torrent  of  words,  to  divert  her  attention  from  a  weak- 
ness, the  causes  of  which  he  could  not  explain.  Fortunately 
Vane  soon  returned,  and  Trevylyan,  consigning  Gertrude  to 
his  care,  hastily  left  the  room. 

Gertrude  sank  into  a  revery. 

"  Ah,  dear  father !  "  said  she,  suddenly,  and  after  a  pause, 
"  if  I  indeed  were  worse  than  I  have  thought  myself  of  late, 
if  I  were  to  die  now,  what  would  Trevylyan  feel  ?  Pray  God 
I  may  live  for  his  sake !  " 

"My  child,  do  not  talk  thus;  you  are  better,  much  better 
than  you  were.  Ere  the  autumn  ends,  Trevylyan's  happiness 
will  be  your  lawful  care.  Do  not  think  so  despondently  of 
yourself." 

"I  thought  not  of  myself,"  sighed  Gertrude,  "but  of 
him  !  " 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

GERTRrCE.  — THE   EXCURSION"   TO    HAMMERSTEIN. — THOUGHTS. 

The  next  day  they  visited  the  environs  of  Brohl.  Ger- 
trude was  unusually  silent;  for  her  temper,  naturally  sunny 
and  enthusiastic,  was  accustomed  to  light  up  everything  she 
saw.     Ah,  once  how  bounding  was  that  step !  how  undulating 


126  THE  PILGRBIS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

the  young  graces  of  that  form !  liow  playfully  once  danced  the 
ringlets  on  that  laughing  cheek!  But  she  clung  to  Trevylyan's 
proud  form  with  a  yet  more  endearing  tenderness  than  was 
her  wont,  and  hung  yet  more  eagerly  on  his  words;  her  hand 
sought  his,  and  she  often  pressed  it  to  her  lips,  and  sighed  as 
she  did  so.  Something  that  she  would  not  tell  seemed  pass- 
ing within  her,  and  sobered  her  playful  mood.  But  there  was 
this  noticeable  in  Gertrude:  whatever  took  away  from  her 
gayety  increased  her  tenderness.  The  infirmities  of  her  frame 
never  touched  her  temper.  She  was  kind,  gentle,  loving  to 
the  last. 

They  had  crossed  to  the  opposite  banks,  to  visit  the  Castle 
of  Hammerstein.  The  evening  was  transparently  serene  and 
clear ;  and  the  warmth  of  the  sun  yet  lingered  upon  the  air, 
even  though  the  twilight  had  passed  and  the  moon  risen,  as 
their  boat  returned  by  a  lengthened  passage  to  the  village. 
Broad  and  straight  flows  the  Khine  in  this  part  of  its  career. 
On  one  side  lay  the  wooded  village  of  Namedy,  the  hamlet  of 
Fornech,  backed  by  the  blue  rock  of  Kruezborner  Ley,  the 
mountains  that  shield  the  mysterious  Brohl;  and  on  the  op- 
posite shore  they  saw  the  mighty  rock  of  Hammerstein,  with 
the  green  and  livid  ruins  sleeping  in  the  melancholy  moon- 
light. Two  towers  rose  haughtily  above  the  more  disman- 
tled wrecks.  How  changed  since  the  alternate  banners  of  the 
Spaniard  and  the  Swede  waved  from  their  ramparts,  in  that 
great  war  in  which  the  gorgeous  Wallenstein  won  his  laurels ! 
And  in  its  mighty  calm  flowed  on  the  ancestral  Rhine,  the 
vessel  reflected  on  its  smooth  expanse;  and  above,  girded  by 
thin  and  shadowy  clouds,  the  moon  cast  her  shadows  upon 
rocks  covered  with  verdure,  and  brought  into  a  dim  light  the 
twin  spires  of  Andernach,  tranquil  in  the  distance. 

"How  beautiful  is  this  hour!"  said  Gertrude,  with  a  low 
voice,  "surely  we  do  not  live  enough  in  the  night;  one  half 
the  beauty  of  the  world  is  slept  away.  "What  in  the  day  can 
equal  the  holy  calm,  the  loveliness,  and  the  stillness  which 
the  moon  now  casts  over  the  earth?  These,"  she  continued, 
pressing  Trevylyan's  hand,  "are  hours  to  remember;  and  you 
—  will  you  ever  forget  them?" 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  127 

Something  there  is  in  recollections  of  such  times  and  scenes 
that  seem  not  to  belong  to  real  life,  but  are  rather  an  episode 
in  its  history;  they  are  like  some  wandering  into  a  more  ideal 
■world ;  they  refuse  to  blend  with  our  ruder  associations ;  they 
live  in  us,  apart  and  alone,  to  be  treasured  ever,  but  not 
lightly  to  be  recalled.  There  are  none  living  to  whom  we 
can  confide  them, —  who  can  sympathize  with  what  then  Ave 
felt?  It  is  this  that  makes  poetry,  and  that  page  which  we 
create  as  a  confidant  to  ourselves,  necessary  to  the  thoughts 
that  weigh  upon  the  breast.  We  write,  for  our  writing  is  our 
friend,  the  inanimate  paper  is  our  confessional;  we  pour  forth 
on  it  the  thoughts  that  we  could  tell  to  no  private  ear,  and  are 
relieved,  are  consoled.  And  if  genius  has  one  prerogative 
dearer  than  the  rest,  it  is  that  which  enables  it  to  do  honour 
to  the  dead, —  to  revive  the  beauty,  the  virtue  that  are  no 
more;  to  wreathe  chaplets  that  outlive  the  day  around  the 
urn  which  were  else  forgotten  by  the  world! 

When  the  poet  mourns,  in  his  immortal  verse,  for  the  dead, 
tell  me  not  that  fame  is  in  his  mind!  It  is  filled  by  thoughts, 
by  emotions  that  shut  out  the  living.  He  is  breathing  to  his 
genius  —  to  that  sole  and  constant  friend  Avhieh  has  grown  up 
with  him  from  his  cradle  —  the  sorrows  too  delicate  for  human 
sympathy !  and  when  afterwards  he  consigns  the  confession  to 
the  crowd,  it  is  indeed  from  the  hope  of  honour, —  honour  not 
for  himself,  but  for  the  being  that  is  no  more. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 
LETTER  EROM  TREVYLYAN  TO  . 

CoBLENTZ. 

I  AM  obliged  to  you,  my  dear  friend,  for  your  letter;  which, 
indeed,  I  have  not,  in  the  course  of  our  rapid  journey,  had 
the  leisure,  perhaps  the  heart,  to  answer  before.  But  we  are 
staying  in  this  town  for  some  days,  and  I  write  now  in  the 


128  THE  PILGRIMS   OF   THE  RHINE. 

early  morning,  ere  any  one  else  in  our  hotel  is  awake.  Do 
not  tell  me  of  adventure,  of  politics,  of  intrigues ;  my  nature 
is  altered.  I  threw  down  your  letter,  animated  and  brilliant 
as  it  was,  with  a  sick  and  revolted  heart.  But  I  am  now  in 
somewhat  less  dejected  spirits.  Gertrude  is  better, —  yes, 
really  better;  there  is  a  physician  here  who  gives  me  hope; 
my  care  is  perpetually  to  amuse,  and  never  to  fatigue  her, — 
never  to  permit  her  thoughts  to  rest  upon  herself,  For  I  have 
imagined  that  illness  cannot,  at  least  in  the  unexhausted 
vigour  of  our  years,  fasten  upon  us  irremediably  unless  we 
feed  it  with  our  own  belief  in  its  existence.  You  see  men  of 
the  most  delicate  frames  engaged  in  active  and  professional 
pursuits,  who  literally  have  no  time  for  illness.  Let  them 
become  idle,  let  them  take  care  of  themselves,  let  them  think 
of  their  health  —  and  they  die !  The  rust  rots  the  steel  which 
use  preserves;  and,  thank  Heaven,  although  Gertrude,  once 
during  our  voyage,  seemed  roused,  by  an  inexcusable  impru- 
dence of  emotion  on  my  part,  into  some  suspicion  of  her  state, 
yet  it  passed  away ;  for  she  thinks  rarely  of  herself,  —  I  am 
ever  in  her  thoughts  and  seldom  from  her  side,  and  you  know, 
too,  the  sanguine  and  credulous  nature  of  her  disease.  But, 
indeed,  I  now  hope  more  than  I  have  done  since  I  knew  her. 

When,  after  an  excited  and  adventurous  life  which  had 
comprised  so  many  changes  in  so  few  years,  I  found  myself 
at  rest  in  the  bosom  of  a  retired  and  remote  part  of  the  coun- 
try, and  Gertrude  and  her  father  were  my  only  neighbours,  I 
was  in  that  state  of  mind  in  which  the  passions,  recruited  by 
solitude,  are  accessible  to  the  purer  and  more  divine  emo- 
tions. I  was  struck  by  Gertrude's  beauty,  I  was  charmed  by 
her  simplicity.  Worn  in  the  usages  and  fashions  of  the  world, 
the  inexperience,  the  trustfulness,  the  exceeding  youth  of  her 
mind,  charmed  and  touched  me ;  but  when  I  saw  the  stamp  of 
our  national  disease  in  her  bright  eye  and  transparent  cheek, 
I  felt  my  love  chilled  while  my  interest  was  increased.  I 
fancied  myself  safe,  and  I  went  daily  into  the  danger;  I  im- 
agined so  pure  a  light  could  not  burn,  and  I  was  consumed. 
Not  till  my  anxiety  grew  into  pain,  my  interest  into  terror, 
did  I  know  the  secret  of  my  own  heart;  and  at  the  moment 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  129 

that  I  discovered  this  secret,  I  discovered  also  that  Gertrude 
loved  me!  What  a  destiny  was  mine!  what  happiness,  yet 
what  misery!  Gertrude  was  my  own  —  but  for  what  period? 
I  might  touch  that  soft  hand,  I  might  listen  to  the  tenderest 
confession  from  that  silver  voice;  but  all  the  while  my  heart 
spoke  of  passion,  my  reason  whispered  of  death.  You  know 
that  I  am  considered  of  a  cold  and  almost  callous  nature,  that 
I  am  not  easily  moved  into  affection;  but  my  very  pride  bowed 
me  here  into  weakness.  There  was  so  soft  a  demand  upon 
my  protection,  so  constant  an  appeal  to  my  anxiety.  You 
know  that  my  father's  quick  temper  burns  within  me,  that  I 
am  hot,  and  stern,  and  exacting;  but  one  hasty  word,  one 
thought  of  myself,  here  were  inexcusable.  So  brief  a  time 
might  be  left  for  her  earthly  happiness,  —  could  I  embitter 
one  moment?  All  that  feeling  of  uncertainty  which  should 
in  prudence  have  prevented  my  love,  increased  it  almost  to  a 
preternatural  excess.  That  which  it  is  said  mothers  feel  for 
an  only  child  in  sickness,  I  feel  for  Gertrude.  My  existence 
is  not  I  —  I  exist  in  her ! 

Her  illness  increased  upon  her  at  home ;  they  have  recom- 
mended travel.  She  chose  the  course  we  were  to  pursue,  and, 
fortunately,  it  was  so  familiar  to  me,  that  I  have  been  ena- 
bled to  brighten  the  way.  I  am  ever  on  the  watch  that  she 
shall  not  know  a  weary  hour ;  you  would  almost  smile  to  see 
how  I  have  roused  myself  from  my  habitual  silence,  and  to 
find  me  —  me,  the  scheming  and  worldly  actor  of  real  life  — 
plunged  back  into  the  early  romance  of  my  boyhood,  and 
charming  the  childish  delight  of  Gertrude  with  the  inven- 
tion of  fables  and  the  traditions  of  the  Rhine. 

But  I  believe  that  I  have  succeeded  in  my  object;  if  not, 
what  is  left  to  me?  Gertrude  is  better!  —  In  that  sentence 
what  visions  of  hope  dawn  upon  me !  I  wish  you  could  have 
seen  Gertrude  before  we  left  England;  you  might  then  have 
understood  my  love  for  her.  Not  that  we  have  not,  in  the 
gay  capitals  of  Europe,  paid  our  brief  vows  to  forms  more 
richly  beautiful;  not  that  we  have  not  been  charmed  by  a 
more  brilliant  genius,  by  a  more  tutored  grace.  But  there  is 
that  in  Gertrude  which  I  never  saw  before,  —  the  union  of  the 

9 


130  THE   PILGRIMS   OF   THE   RHINE. 

childish  and  the  intellectual,  an  ethereal  simplicity,  a  temper 
that  is  never  dimmed,  a  tenderness  —  0  God !  let  me  not  speak 
of  her  virtues,  for  they  only  tell  me  how  little  she  is  suited  to 
the  earth. 

You  will  direct  to  me  at  Mayence,  whither  our  course  now 
leads  us,  and  your  friendship  will  find  indulgence  for  a  letter 
that  is  so  little  a  reply  to  yours. 

Your  sincere  friend, 

A.  G.  Tkevylyax. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

COBLENTZ.  —  EXCURSION      TO      THE     MOUNTAINS      OF     TAUNUS ; 

ROMAN     TOWER     IN     THE    VALLEY     OF     EHRENBREITSTEIN.  

TRAVEL,     ITS     PLEASURES     ESTIMATED     DIFFERENTLY    BY  THE 

YOUNG     AND     THE     OLD.   THE     STUDENT     OF     HEIDELBERG; 

HIS    CRITICISMS    ON    GERMAN   LITERATURE. 

Gertrude  had,  indeed,  apparently  rallied  during  their  stay 
at  Coblentz;  and  a  French  physician  established  in  the  town 
(who  adopted  a  peculiar  treatment  for  consumption,  which 
had  been  attended  with  no  ordinary  success)  gave  her  father 
and  Trevylyan  a  sanguine  assurance  of  her  ultimate  recovery. 
The  time  they  passed  within  the  white  walls  of  Coblentz  was, 
therefore,  the  happiest  and  most  cheerful  part  of  their  pil- 
grimage. They  visited  the  various  places  in  its  vicinity;  but 
the  excursion  which  most  delighted  Gertrude  was  one  to  the 
mountains  of  Taunus. 

They  took  advantage  of  a  beautiful  September  day;  and, 
crossing  the  river,  commenced  their  tour  from  the  Thai,  or 
valley  of  Ehrenbreitstein.  They  stopped  on  their  way  to 
view  the  remains  of  a  Roman  tower  in  the  valley;  for  the 
whole  of  that  district  bears  frequent  witness  of  the  ancient 
conquerors  of  the  world.  The  mountains  of  Taunus  are  still 
intersected  with  the  roads  which  the  Romans  cut  to  the  mines 


THE   PILGRIMS   OF   THE   EIIIXE.  131 

that  supplied  them  with  silver.  Roman  urns  and  inscribed 
stones  are  often  found  in  these  ancient  places.  The  stones, 
inscribed  with  names  utterly  unknown, —  a  type  of  the  uncer- 
tainty of  fame !  the  urns,  from  which  the  dust  is  gone,  a  very 
satire  upon  life! 

Lone,  gray,  and  mouldering,  this  tower  stands  aloft  in  the 
valley;  and  the  quiet  Vane  smiled  to  see  the  uniform  of  a 
modern  Prussian,  with  his  white  belt  and  lifted  bayonet,  by 
the  spot  which  had  once  echoed  to  the  clang  of  the  Eoman 
arms.  The  soldier  was  paying  a  momentary  court  to  a  coun- 
try damsel,  whose  straw  hat  and  rustic  dress  did  not  stifle  the 
vanity  of  the  sex ;  and  this  rude  and  humble  gallantry,  in  that 
spot,  was  another  moral  in  the  history  of  human  passions. 
Above,  the  ramparts  of  a  modern  rule  frowned  down  upon  the 
solitary  tower,  as  if  in  the  vain  insolence  with  which  present 
power  looks  upon  past  decay, —  the  living  race  upon  ancestral 
greatness.  And  indeed,  in  this  respect,  rightly!  for  modern 
times  have  no  parallel  to  that  degradation  of  human  dignity 
stamped  upon  the  ancient  world  by  the  long  sway  of  the  Im- 
perial Harlot,  all  slavery  herself,  yet  all  tyranny  to  earth; — 
and,  like  her  own  Messalina,  at  once  a  prostitute  and  an 
empress ! 

They  continued  their  course  by  the  ancient  baths  of  Ems, 
and  keeping  by  the  banks  of  the  romantic  Lahn,  arrived  at 
Holzapfel. 

"Ah,"  said  Gertrude,  one  day,  as  they  proceeded  to  the 
springs  of  the  Carlovingian  Wiesbaden,  "surely  perpetual 
travel  with  those  we  love  must  be  the  happiest  state  of  exis- 
tence! If  home  has  its  comforts,  it  also  has  its  cares;  but 
here  we  are  at  home  with  Nature,  and  the  minor  e\dls  vanish 
almost  before  they  are  felt." 

"True,"  said  Trevylyan,  "we  escape  from  'the  little,' 
which  is  the  curse  of  life ;  the  small  cares  that  devour  us  up, 
the  grievances  of  the  day.  We  are  feeding  the  divinest  part 
of  our  nature, —  the  appetite  to  admire." 

"But  of  all  things  wearisome,"  said  Vane,  "a  succession  of 
changes  is  the  most.  There  can  be  a  monotony  in  variet}-  it- 
self.    As  the  eye  aches  in  gazing  long  at  the  new  shapes  of 


132  THE   PILGRIMS   OF   THE   RHIXE. 

the  kaleidoscope,  the  mind  aches  at  the  fatigue  of  a  constant 
alternation  of  objects;  and  we  delightedly  return  to  'rest/ 
which  is  to  life  what  green  is  to  the  earth." 

In  the  course  of  their  sojourn  among  the  various  baths  of 
Taunus,  they  fell  in,  by  accident,  with  a  German  student  of 
Heidelberg,  who  was  pursuing  the  pedestrian  excursions  so 
peculiarly  favoured  by  his  tribe.  He  was  tamer  and  gentler 
than  the  general  herd  of  those  young  wanderers,  and  our 
party  were  much  pleased  with  his  enthusiasm,  because  it  was 
unaffected.  He  had  been  in  England,  and  spoke  its  language 
almost  as  a  native. 

"Our  literature,"  said  he,  one  day,  conversing  with  Yane, 
"has  two  faults, —  we  are  too  subtle  and  too  homel}'.  "We  do 
not  speak  enough  to  the  broad  comprehension  of  mankind; 
we  are  forever  making  abstract  qualities  of  flesh  and  blood. 
Our  critics  have  turned  your  'Hamlet'  into  an  allegory;  they 
will  not  even  allow  Shakspeare  to  paint  mankind,  but  insist 
on  his  embodying  qualities.  They  turn  poetry  into  metaphy- 
sics, and  truth  seems  to  them  shallow,  unless  an  allegory, 
which  is  false,  can  be  seen  at  the  bottom.  Again,  too,  with 
our  most  imaginative  works  we  mix  a  homeliness  that  we 
fancy  touching,  but  which  in  reality  is  ludicrous.  We  eter- 
nally step  from  the  sublime  to  the  ridiculous;  we  want 
taste." 

"  But  not,  I  hope,  French  taste.  Do  not  govern  a  Goethe, 
or  even  a  Richter,  by  a  Boileaul  "   said  Trevylyan. 

"jSTo;  but  Boileau's  taste  was  false.  Men  who  have  the 
reputation  for  good  taste  often  acquire  it  solely  because  of  the 
want  of  genius.  By  taste  I  mean  a  quick  tact  into  the  har- 
mony of  composition,  the  art  of  making  the  whole  consistent 
with  its  parts,  the  concinnitas.  Schiller  alone  of  our  authors 
has  it.  But  we  are  fast  mending;  and  by  following  shadows 
so  long  we  have  been  led  at  last  to  the  substance.  Our  past 
literature  is  to  ns  what  astrology  was  to  science, —  false  but 
ennobling,  and  conducting  us  to  the  true  language  of  the  in- 
tellectual heaven." 

Another  time  the  scenes  they  passed,  interspersed  with  the 
ruins  of  frequent  monasteries,  leading  them  to  converse  on 


THE   PILGRIMS   OF  THE   RHINE.  133 

tlie  monastic  life,  and  the  various  additions  time  makes  to 
religion,  the  German  said :  "  Perhaps  one  of  the  works  most 
wanted  in  the  world  is  the  history  of  Religion,  We  have 
several  books,  it  is  true,  on  the  subject,  but  none  that  supply 
the  want  I  allude  to.  A  German  ought  to  write  it;  for  it  is, 
probably,  only  a  German  that  would  have  the  requisite  learn- 
ing. A  German  only,  too,  is  likely  to  treat  the  mighty  sub- 
ject with  boldness,  and  yet  with  veneration;  without  the 
shallow  flippancy  of  the  Frenchman,  without  the  timid  secta- 
rianism of  the  English.  It  would  be  a  noble  task,  to  trace 
the  winding  mazes  of  antique  falsehood;  to  clear  up  the  first 
glimmerings  of  divine  truth;  to  separate  Jehovah's  word 
from  man's  invention;  to  vindicate  the  All-merciful  from  the 
dread  creeds  of  bloodshed  and  of  fear :  and,  watching  in  the 
great  Heaven  of  Truth  the  dawning  of  the  True  Star,  follow 
it  —  like  the  Magi  of  the  East  —  till  it  rested  above  the  real 
God.  Not  indeed  presuming  to  such  a  task,"  continued  the 
German,  with  a  slight  blush,  "I  have  about  me  a  humble 
essay,  which  treats  only  of  one  part  of  that  august  subject; 
which,  leaving  to  a  loftier  genius  the  history  of  the  true  re- 
ligion, may  be  considered  as  the  history  of  a  false  one, —  of 
such  a  creed  as  Christianity  supplanted  in  the  North ;  or  such 
as  may  perhaps  be  found  among  the  fiercest  of  the  savage 
tribes.  It  is  a  fiction  —  as  you  may  conceive;  but  yet,  by  a 
constant  reference  to  the  early  records  of  human  learning,  I 
have  studied  to  weave  it  up  from  truths.  If  you  would  like 
to  hear  it, —  it  is  very  short  —  " 

"Above  all  things,"  said  Vane;  and  the  German  drew  a 
manuscript  neatly  bound  from  his  pocket. 

"  After  having  myself  criticised  so  insolently  the  faults  of 
our  national  literature,"  said  he,  smiling,  "you  will  have  a 
right  to  criticise  the  faults  that  belong  to  so  humble  a  disciple 
of  it;  but  you  will  see  that,  though  I  have  commenced  with 
the  allegorical  or  the  supernatural,  I  have  endeavoured  to 
avoid  the  subtlety  of  conceit,  and  the  obscurity  of  design, 
which  I  blame  in  the  wilder  of  our  authors.  As  to  the  style, 
I  wished  to  suit  it  to  the  subject;  it  ought  to  be,  unless  I  err, 
rugged  and  massive, —  hewn,  as  it  were,  out  of  the  rock  of 


134  THE  PILGRIMS  OF   THE  RHINE. 

primeval  language.  But  you,  madam  —  doubtless  you  do  not 
understand  German?  " 

"Her  mother  was  an  Austrian,"  said  Vane;  "and  she  knows 
at  least  enough  of  the  tongue  to  understand  you;  so  pray 
begin." 

Without  further  preface,  the  German  then  commenced  the 
story,  which  the  reader  will  find  translated^  in  the  next 
chapter. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE   FALLEN    STAR;    OK   THE   HISTORY    OF    A    FALSE   RELIGION. 

And  the  Stabs  sat,  each  on  his  ruby  throne,  and  watched 
with  sleepless  eyes  upon  the  world.  It  was  the  night  usher- 
ing in  the  new  year,  a  night  on  which  every  star  receives 
from  the  archangel  that  then  visits  the  universal  galaxy  its 
peculiar  charge.  The  destinies  of  men  and  empires  are  then 
portioned  forth  for  the  coming  year,  and,  unconsciously  to 
ourselves,  our  fates  become  minioned  to  the  stars.  A  hushed 
and  solemn  night  is  that  in  which  the  dark  gates  of  time 
open  to  receive  the  ghost  of  the  Dead  Year,  and  the  young 
and  radiant  Stranger  rushes  forth  from  the  clouded  chasms  of 
Eternity.  On  that  night,  it  is  said  that  there  are  given  to 
the  spirits  that  we  see  not  a  privilege  and  a  power;  the  dead 
are  troubled  in  their  forgotten  graves,  and  men  feast  and 
laugh,  while  demon  and  angel  are  contending  for  their  doom. 

It  was  night  in  heaven;  all  was  unutterably  silent;  the 
music  of  the  spheres  had  paused,  and  not  a  sound  came  from 
the  angels  of  the  stars;  and  they  who  sat  upon  those  shining 
thrones  were  three  thousand  and  ten,  each  resembling  each. 
Eternal  youth  clothed  their  radiant  limbs  with  celestial  beauty, 
and  on  their  faces  was  written  the  dread  of  calm, —  that  fear- 

i  Nevertheless  I  beg  to  state  seriously,  that  the  German  student  is  an  im- 
postor ;  and  that  he  has  no  right  to  wrest  the  parentage  of  the  fiction  from 
the  true  author. 


THE  riLGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  135 

ful  stillness  which  feels  not,  sympathizes  not  with  the  doom 
over  which  it  broods.  War,  tempest,  pestilence,  the  rise  of 
empires  and  their  fall,  they  ordain,  they  compass,  unexultant 
and  uncompassionate.  The  fell  and  thrilling  crimes  that  stalk 
abroad  when  the  world  sleeps, — the  parricide  with  his  stealthy 
step  and  horrent  brow  and  lifted  knife ;  the  unwifed  mother 
that  glides  out  and  looks  behind,  and  behind,  and  shudders, 
and  casts  her  babe  upon  the  river,  and  hears  the  wail,  and 
pities  not  —  the  splash,  and  does  not  tremble, — these  the 
starred  kings  behold,  to  these  they  lead  the  unconscious  step; 
but  the  guilt  blanches  not  their  lustre,  neither  doth  remorse 
wither  their  unwrinkled  youth.  Each  star  wore  a  kingly 
diadem ;  round  the  loins  of  each  was  a  graven  belt,  graven  with 
many  and  mighty  signs ;  and  the  foot  of  each  was  on  a  burning 
ball,  and  the  right  arm  drooped  over  the  knee  as  they  bent 
down  from  their  thrones.  They  moved  not  a  limb  or  feature, 
save  the  finger  of  the  right  hand,  which  ever  and  anon  moved 
slowly  pointing,  and  regulated  the  fates  of  men  as  the  hand 
of  the  dial  speaks  the  career  of  time. 

One  only  of  the  three  thousand  and  ten  wore  not  the  same 
aspect  as  his  crowned  brethren, —  a  star  smaller  than  the  rest, 
and  less  luminous ;  the  countenance  of  this  star  was  not  im- 
pressed with  the  awful  calmness  of  the  others,  but  there  were 
sullenness  and  discontent  upon  his  mighty  brow. 

And  this  star  said  to  himself,  *'  Behold !  I  am  created  less 
glorious  than  my  fellows,  and  the  archangel  apportions  not  to 
me  the  same  lordly  destinies.  Not  for  me  are  the  dooms  of 
kings  and  bards,  the  rulers  of  empires,  or,  yet  nobler,  the 
swayers  and  harmonists  of  souls.  Sluggish  are  the  spirits 
and  base  the  lot  of  the  men  I  am  ordained  to  lead  through  a 
dull  life  to  a  fameless  grave.  And  wherefore?  Is  it  mine 
own  fault,  or  is  it  the  fault  which  is  not  mine,  that  I  was 
woven  of  beams  less  glorious  than  my  brethren?  Lo!  when 
the  archangel  comes,  I  will  bow  not  my  crowned  head  to  his 
decrees,  I  will  speak,  as  the  ancestral  Lucifer  before  me :  he 
rebelled  because  of  his  glory,  /because  of  my  obscurity;  he 
from  the  ambition  of  pride,  and  /from  its  discontent." 

And  while  the  star  was  thus  communing  with  himself,  the 


136  THE  PILGRIMS   OF   THE  RHINE. 

upward  heavens  were  parted  as  by  a  long  river  of  light,  and 
adown  that  stream  swiftly,  and  without  sound,  sped  the  arch- 
angel visitor  of  the  stars.  His  vast  limbs  floated  in  the  liquid 
lustre,  and  his  outspread  wings,  each  plume  the  glory  of  a 
sun,  bore  him  noiselessly  along;  but  thick  clouds  veiled  his 
lustre  from  the  eyes  of  mortals,  and  while  above  all  was 
bathed  in  the  serenity  of  his  splendour,  tempest  and  storm 
broke  below  over  the  children  of  the  earth :  "  He  bowed  the 
heavens  and  came  down,  and  darkness  was  under  his  feet." 

And  the  stillness  on  the  faces  of  the  stars  became  yet  more 
still,  and  the  awfulness  was  humbled  into  awe.  Right  above 
their  thrones  paused  the  course  of  the  archangel;  and  his 
wings  stretched  from  east  to  west,  overshadowing  with  the 
shadow  of  light  the  immensity  of  space.  Then  forth,  in  the 
shining  stillness,  rolled  the  dread  music  of  his  voice:  and, 
fulfilling  the  heraldry  of  God,  to  each  star  he  appointed  the 
duty  and  the  charge ;  and  each  star  bowed  his  head  yet  lower 
as  he  heard  the  fiat,  while  his  throne  rocked  and  trembled  at 
the  Majesty  of  the  Word.  But  at  last,  when  each  of  the 
brighter  stars  had,  in  succession,  received  the  mandate,  and 
the  viceroyalty  over  the  nations  of  the  earth,  the  purple  and 
diadems  of  kings,  the  archangel  addressed  the  lesser  star  as 
he  sat  apart  from  his  fellows. 

"Behold,"  said  the  archangel,  "the  rude  tribes  of  the 
North,  the  fishermen  of  the  river  that  flows  beneath,  and  the 
hunters  of  the  forests  that  darken  the  mountain  tops  Avith 
verdure!  these  be  thy  charge,  and  their  destinies  thy  care. 
Nor  deem  thou,  0  Star  of  the  sullen  beams,  that  thy  duties 
are  less  glorious  than  the  duties  of  thy  brethren ;  for  the  peas- 
ant is  not  less  to  thy  master  and  mine  than  the  monarch ;  nor 
doth  the  doom  of  empires  rest  more  upon  the  sovereign  than 
on  the  herd.  The  passions  and  the  heart  are  the  dominion  of 
the  stars, —  a  mighty  realm;  nor  less  mighty  beneath  the  hide 
that  garbs  the  shepherd  than  under  the  jewelled  robes  of  the 
eastern  kings." 

Then  the  star  lifted  his  pale  front  from  his  breast,  and  an- 
swered the  archangel. 

"  Lo !  "  he  said,  "  ages  have  passed,  and  each  year  thou  hast 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  137 

appointed  me  to  the  same  ignoble  charge.  Release  me,  I  pray 
thee,  from  the  duties  that  I  scorn ;  or,  if  thou  wilt  that  the 
lowlier  race  of  men  be  my  charge,  give  unto  me  the  charge 
not  of  many,  but  of  one,  and  suffer  me  to  breathe  into  him  the 
desire  that  spurns  the  valleys  of  life,  and  ascends  its  steeps. 
If  the  humble  are  given  to  me,  let  there  be  amongst  them  one 
whom  I  may  lead  on  the  mission  that  shall  abase  the  proud ; 
for,  behold,  0  Appointer  of  the  Stars,  as  I  have  sat  for  un- 
counted years  upon  my  solitary  throne,  brooding  over  the 
things  beneath,  my  spirit  hath  gathered  wisdom  from  the 
changes  that  shift  below.  Looking  upon  the  tribes  of  earth, 
I  have  seen  how  the  multitude  are  swayed,  and  tracked  the 
steps  that  lead  weakness  into  power;  and  fain  would  I  be  the 
ruler  of  one  who,  if  abased,  shall  aspire  to  rule." 

As  a  sudden  cloud  over  the  face  of  noon  was  the  change  on 
the  brow  of  the  archangel. 

"Proud  and  melancholy  star,"  said  the  herald,  "thy  wish 
would  war  with  the  courses  of  the  invisible  destiny,  that, 
throned  far  above,  sways  and  harmonizes  all, —  the  source 
from  which  the  lesser  rivers  of  fate  are  eternally  gushing 
through  the  heart  of  the  universe  of  things.  Thinkest  thou 
that  thy  wisdom,  of  itself,  can  lead  the  peasant  to  become  a 
king?" 

And  the  croAvned  star  gazed  undauntedly  on  the  face  of  the 
archangel,  and  answered, — 

"Yea!     Grant  me  but  one  trial !  " 

Ere  the  archangel  could  reply,  the  farthest  centre  of  the 
Heaven  was  rent  as  by  a  thunderbolt;  and  the  divine  herald 
covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  and  a  voice  low  and  sweet 
and  mild,  with  the  consciousness  of  unquestionable  power, 
spoke  forth  to  the  repining  star. 

"The  time  has  arrived  when  thou  mayest  have  thy  wish. 
Below  thee,  upon  yon  solitary  plain,  sits  a  mortal,  gloomy 
as  thyself,  who,  born  under  thy  influence,  may  be  moulded  to 
thy  will." 

The  voice  ceased  as  the  voice  of  a  dream.  Silence  was  over 
the  seas  of  space,  and  the  archangel,  once  more  borne  aloft, 
slowly  soared  away  into  the  farther  heaven,  to  promulgate  the 


138  THE   PILGRIMS   OF   THE   RHINE. 

divine  bidding  to  the  stars  of  far-distant  worlds.  But  the 
soul  of  the  discontented  star  exulted  within  itself;  and  it 
said,  "  I  will  call  forth  a  king  from  the  valley  of  the  herds- 
man that  shall  trample  on  the  kings  subject  to  my  fellows, 
and  render  the  charge  of  the  contenmed  star  more  glorious 
than  the  minions  of  its  favoured  brethren;  thus  shall  I  re- 
venge neglect!  thus  shall  I  prove  my  claim  hereafter  to  the 
heritage  of  the  great  of  earth!  " 

At  that  time,  though  the  world  had  rolled  on  for  ages,  and 
the  pilgrimage  of  man  had  passed  through  various  states  of 
existence,  which  our  dim  traditionary  knowledge  has  not  pre- 
served, yet  the  condition  of  our  race  in  the  northern  hemi- 
sphere was  then  what  \oe,  in  our  imperfect  lore,  have  conceived 
to  be  among  the  earliest. 

By  a  rude  and  vast  pile  of  stones,  the  masonry  of  arts  for- 
gotten, a  lonely  man  sat  at  midnight,  gazing  upon  the  heavens. 
A  storm  had  just  passed  from  the  earth;  the  clouds  had  rolled 
away,  and  the  high  stars  looked  down  upon  the  rapid  waters 
of  the  Khine;  and  no  sound  save  the  roar  of  the  waves,  and 
the  dripping  of  the  rain  from  the  mighty  trees,  was  heard 
around  the  ruined  pile.  The  white  sheep  lay  scattered  on  the 
plain,  and  slumber  with  them.  He  sat  watching  over  the 
herd,  lest  the  foes  of  a  neighbouring  tribe  seized  them  un- 
awares, and  thus  he  communed  with  himself:  "The  king  sits 
upon  his  throne,  and  is  honoured  by  a  warrior  race,  and  the 
warrior  exults  in  the  trophies  he  has  won;  the  step  of  the 
huntsman  is  bold  upon  the  mountain-top,  and  his  name  is 
sung  at  night  round  the  pine-fires  by  the  lips  of  the  bard;  and 
the  bard  himself  hath  honour  in  the  hall.  But  I,  who  belong 
not  to  the  race  of  kings,  and  whose  limbs  can  bound  not  to 
the  rapture  of  war,  nor  scale  the  eyries  of  the  eagle  and  the 
haunts  of  the  swift  stag;  whose  hand  cannot  string  the  harp, 
and  whose  voice  is  harsh  in  the  song, —  /have  neither  honour 
nor  command,  and  men  bow  not  the  head  as  I  pass  along;  yet 
do  I  feel  within  me  the  consciousness  of  a  great  power  that 
should  rule  my  species  —  not  obey.    My  eye  pierces  the  secret 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  139 

hearts  of  men.  I  see  their  thoughts  ere  their  lips  proclaim 
them;  and  I  scorn,  while  I  see,  the  weakness  and  the  vices 
which  I  never  shared,  I  laugh  at  the  madness  of  the  warrior; 
I  mock  within  my  soul  at  the  tyranny  of  kings.  Surely  there 
is  something  in  man's  nature  more  fitted  to  command,  more 
worthy  of  renown,  than  the  sinews  of  the  arm,  or  the  swift- 
ness of  the  feet,  or  the  accident  of  birth !  " 

As  Morven,  the  son  of  Osslah,  thus  mused  within  himself, 
still  looking  at  the  heavens,  the  solitary  man  beheld  a  star 
suddenly  shooting  from  its  place,  and  speeding  through  the 
silent  air,  till  it  suddenly  paused  right  over  the  midnight 
river,  and  facing  the  inmate  of  the  pile  of  stones. 

As  he  gazed  upon  the  star,  strange  thoughts  grew  slowly 
over  him.  He  drank,  as  it  were,  from  its  solemn  aspect  the 
spirit  of  a  great  design.  A  dark  cloud  rapidly  passing  over 
the  earth  snatched  the  star  from  his  sight,  but  left  to  his 
awakened  mind  the  thoughts  and  the  dim  scheme  that  had 
come  to  him  as  he  gazed. 

When  the  sun  arose,  one  of  his  brethren  relieved  him  of  his 
charge  over  the  herd,  and  he  went  away,  but  not  to  his 
father's  home.  Musingly  he  plunged  into  the  dark  and  leaf- 
less recesses  of  the  winter  forest;  and  shaped  out  of  his  wild 
thoughts,  more  palpably  and  clearly,  the  outline  of  his  daring 
hope.  While  thus  absorbed  he  heard  a  great  noise  in  the 
forest,  and,  fearful  lest  the  hostile  tribe  of  the  Alrich  might 
pierce  that  way,  he  ascended  one  of  the  loftiest  pine-trees,  to 
whose  perpetual  verdure  the  winter  had  not  denied  the  shelter 
he  sought ;  and,  concealed  by  its  branches,  he  looked  anxiously 
forth  in  the  direction  whence  the  noise  had  proceeded.  And 
IT  came, —  it  came  with  a  tramp  and  a  crash,  and  a  crushing 
tread  upon  the  crunched  boughs  and  matted  leaves  that 
strewed  the  soil;  it  came,  it  came, —  the  monster  that  the 
world  now  holds  no  more, —  the  mighty  Mammoth  of  the 
North!  Slowly  it  moved  its  huge  strength  along,  and  its 
burning  eyes  glittered  through  the  gloomy  shade;  its  jaws, 
falling  apart,  showed  the  grinders  with  which  it  snapped 
asunder  the  young  oaks  of  the  forest;  and  the  vast  tusks, 
which,  curved  downward  to  the  midst  of  its  massive  limbs, 


140  THE  PILGRIMS   OF   THE  RHINE. 

glistened  white  and  gliastly,  curdling  the  blood  of  one  des- 
tined hereafter  to  be  the  dreadest  ruler  of  the  men  of  that 
distant  age. 

The  livid  eyes  of  the  monster  fastened  on  the  form  of  the 
herdsman,  even  amidst  the  thick  darkness  of  the  pine.  It 
paused,  it  glared  upon  him:  its  jaws  opened,  and  a  low  deep 
sound,  as  of  gathering  thunder,  seemed  to  the  son  of  Osslah 
as  the  knell  of  a  dreadful  grave.  But  after  glaring  on  him 
for  some  moments,  it  again,  and  calmly,  pursued  its  terrible 
way,  crashing  the  boughs  as  it  marched  along,  till  the  last 
sound  of  its  heavy  tread  died  away  upon  his  ear.^ 

Ere  yet,  however,  Morven  summoned  the  courage  to  de- 
scend the  tree,  he  saw  the  shining  of  arms  through  the  bare 
branches  of  the  wood,  and  presently  a  small  band  of  the  hos- 
tile Alrich  came  into  sight.  He  was  perfectly  hidden  from 
them ;  and,  listening  as  they  passed  him,  he  heard  one  say  to 
another, — 

"The  night  covers  all  things;  why  attack  them  by  day?  " 

And  he  who  seemed  the  chief  of  the  band,  answered,  — 

"Right.  To-night,  when  they  sleep  in  their  city,  we  will 
upon  them.  Lo!  they  will  be  drenched  in  wine,  and  fall  like 
sheep  into  our  hands." 

"But  where,  0  chief,"  said  a  third  of  the  band,  "shall  our 
men  hide  during  the  day?  for  there  are  many  hunters  among 
the  youth  of  the  Oestrich  tribe,  and  they  might  see  us  in  the 
forest  unawares,  and  arm  their  race  against  our  coming." 

"I  have  prepared  for  that,"  answered  the  chief.  "Is  not 
the  dark  cavern  of  Oderlin  at  hand?  Will  it  not  shelter  us 
from  the  eyes  of  the  victims?" 

Then  the  men  laughed,  and,  shouting,  they  went  their  way 
adown  the  forest. 

When  they  were  gone,  Morven  cautiously  descended,  and, 
striking  into  a  broad  path,  hastened  to  a  vale  that  lay  be- 
tween the  forest  and  the  river  in  which  was  the  city  where 
the  chief  of  his  country  dwelt.     As  he  passed  by  the  warlike 

^  The  Critic  will  perceive  that  this  sketch  of  tlie  beast,  whose  race  has  per- 
ished, is  mainly  intended  to  designate  the  remote  period  of  the  world  in  which 
the  tale  is  cast. 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  141 

men,  giants  in  that  day,  who  thronged  the  streets  (if  streets 
they  might  be  called),  their  half  garments  parting  from  their 
huge  limbs,  the  quiver  at  their  backs,  and  the  hunting  spear 
in  their  hand,  they  laughed  and  shouted  out,  and,  pointing  to 
him,  cried,  "Morven  the  woman!  Morven  the  cripple!  what 
dost  thou  among  men?" 

For  the  son  of  Osslah  was  small  in  stature  and  of  slender 
strength,  and  his  step  had  halted  from  his  birth;  but  he 
passed  through  the  warriors  unheedingly.  At  the  outskirts 
of  the  city  he  came  upon  a  tall  pile  in  which  some  old  men 
dwelt  by  themselves,  and  counselled  the  king  when  times  of 
danger,  or  when  the  failure  of  the  season,  the  famine  or  the 
drought,  perplexed  the  ruler,  and  clouded  the  savage  fronts  of 
his  warrior  tribe. 

They  gave  the  counsels  of  experience,  and  when  experience 
failed,  they  drew,  in  their  believing  ignorance,  assurances 
and  omens  from  the  winds  of  heaven,  the  changes  of  the 
moon,  and  the  flights  of  the  wandering  birds.  Filled  —  by  the 
voices  of  the  elements,  and  the  variety  of  mysteries,  which 
ever  shift  along  the  face  of  things,  unsolved  by  the  wonder 
which  pauses  not,  the  fear  which  believes,  and  that  eternal 
reasoning  of  all  experience,  which  assigns  causes  to  effect  — 
with  the  notion  of  superior  powers,  they  assisted  their  igno- 
rance by  the  conjectures  of  their  superstition.  But  as  yet 
they  knew  no  craft  and  practised  no  voluntary  delusion;  they 
trembled  too  much  at  the  mysteries  which  had  created  their 
faith  to  seek  to  belie  them.  They  counselled  as  they  believed, 
and  the  bold  dream  of  governing  their  warriors  and  their  kings 
by  the  wisdom  of  deceit  had  never  dared  to  cross  men  thus 
worn  and  gray  with  age. 

The  son  of  Osslah  entered  the  vast  pile  with  a  fearless  step, 
and  approached  the  place  at  the  upper  end  of  the  hall  where 
the  old  men  sat  in  conclave. 

"How,  base-born  and  craven-limbed!"  cried  the  eldest, 
who  had  been  a  noted  warrior  in  his  day,  "  darest  thou  enter 
unsummoned  amidst  the  secret  councils  of  the  wise  men? 
Knowest  thou  not,  scattering!  that  the  penalty  is  death?  " 

"Slay  me,  if  thou  wilt,"  answered  Morven,  "but  hear!     As 


142  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHIXE. 

I  sat  last  night  in  tlie  ruined  palace  of  our  ancient  kings,  tend- 
ing, as  my  father  bade  me,  the  sheep  that  grazed  around,  lest 
the  fierce  tribe  of  Alrich  should  descend  unseen  from  the 
mountains  upon  the  herd,  a  storm  came  darkly  on ;  and  when 
the  storm  had  ceased,  and  I  looked  above  on  the  sky,  I  saw  a 
star  descend  from  its  height  towards  me,  and  a  voice  from  the 
star  said :  '  Son  of  Osslah,  leave  thy  herd  and  seek  the  council 
of  the  wise  men  and  say  unto  tliem,  that  they  take  thee  as 
one  of  their  number,  or  that  sudden  will  be  the  destruction  of 
them  and  theirs. '  But  I  had  courage  to  answer  the  voice,  and 
I  said,  'Mock  not  the  poor  son  of  the  herdsman.  Behold,  they 
will  kill  me  if  I  utter  so  rash  a  word,  for  I  am  poor  and 
valueless  in  the  eyes  of  the  tribe  of  Oestrich,  and  the  great 
in  deeds  and  the  gray  of  hair  alone  sit  in  the  council  of  the 
wise  men.' 

"Then  the  voice  said:  'Do  my  bidding,  and  I  will  give  thee 
a  token  that  thou  comest  from  the  Powers  that  sway  the  sea- 
sons and  sail  upon  the  eagles  of  the  winds.  Say  unto  the 
wise  men  this  very  night  if  they  refuse  to  receive  thee  of 
their  band,  evil  shall  fall  upon  them,  and  the  morrow  shall 
dawn  in  blood.' 

"Then  the  voice  ceased,  and  the  cloud  passed  over  the  star; 
and  I  communed  with  myself,  and  came,  0  dread  father, 
mournfully  unto  you;  for  I  feared  that  ye  would  smite  me 
because  of  my  bold  tongue,  and  that  ye  would  sentence  me  to 
the  death,  in  that  I  asked  what  may  scarce  be  given  even  to 
the  sons  of  kings." 

Then  the  grim  elders  looked  one  at  the  other,  and  marvelled 
much,  nor  knew  they  what  answer  they  should  make  to  the 
herdsman's  son. 

At  length  one  of  the  wise  men  said,  "  Surely  there  must  be 
truth  in  the  son  of  Osslah,  for  he  would  not  dare  to  falsify 
the  great  lights  of  Heaven.  If  he  had  given  unto  men  the 
words  of  the  star,  verily  we  might  doubt  the  truth.  But  who 
would  brave  the  vengeance  of  the  gods  of  night?  " 

Then  the  elders  shook  their  heads  approvingly;  but  one  an- 
swered and  said, — 

"Shall  we  take  the  herdsman's  son  as  our  equal?    Xo!" 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF   THE   RHINE.  143 

The  name  of  the  man  who  thus  answered  was  Darvan,  and  his 
words  were  pleasing  to  the  ehlers. 

But  Morven  si)oke  out :  "  Of  a  truth,  0  councillors  of  kings, 
I  look  not  to  be  an  equal  with  yourselves.  Enough  if  I  tend 
the  gates  of  your  palace,  and  serve  you  as  the  son  of  Osslah 
may  serve ;  "  and  he  bowed  his  head  humbly  as  he  spoke. 

Then  said  the  chief  of  the  elders,  for  he  was  wiser  than  the 
others,  "  But  how  wilt  thou  deliver  us  from  the  evil  that  is  to 
come?  Doubtless  the  star  has  informed  thee  of  the  service 
thou  canst  render  to  us  if  we  take  thee  into  our  palace,  as 
well  as  the  ill  that  will  fall  on  us  if  we  refuse." 

Morven  answered  meekly,  "Surely,  if  thou  acceptest  thy 
servant,  the  star  will  teach  him  that  which  may  requite  thee; 
but  as  yet  he  knows  only  what  he  has  uttered." 

Then  the  sages  bade  him  withdraw,  and  they  communed  with 
themselves,  and  they  differed  much;  but  though  fierce  men, 
and  bold  at  the  war-cry  of  a  human  foe,  they  shuddered  at 
the  prophecy  of  a  star.  So  they  resolved  to  take  the  son  of 
Osslah,  and  suffer  him  to  keep  the  gate  of  the  council-hall. 

He  heard  their  decree  and  bowed  his  head,  and  went  to  the 
gate,  and  sat  down  by  it  in  silence. 

And  the  sun  went  down  in  the  west,  and  the  first  stars  of 
the  twilight  began  to  glimmer,  when  Morven  started  from  his 
seat,  and  a  trembling  appeared  to  seize  his  limbs.  His  lips 
foamed;  an  agony  and  a  fear  possessed  him;  he  writhed  as  a 
man  whom  the  spear  of  a  foeman  has  pierced  with  a  mortal 
wound,  and  suddenly  fell  upon  his  face  on  the  stony  earth. 

The  elders  approached  him;  wondering,  they  lifted  him 
up.  He  slowly  recovered  as  from  a  swoon;  his  eyes  rolled 
wildly. 

"Heard  ye  not  the  voice  of  the  star? "  he  said. 

And  the  chief  of  the  elders  answered,  "Nay,  we  heard  no 
sound." 

Then  Morven  sighed  heavily. 

"To  me  only  the  word  was  given.  Summon  instantly,  0 
councillors  of  the  king,  summon  the  armed  men,  and  all  the 
youth  of  the  tribe,  and  let  them  take  the  sword  and  the  spear, 
and  follow  thy  servant!     For  lo!  the  star  hath  announced  to 


144  THE  PILGRIMS  OF   THE  RHIXE. 

him  that  the  foe  shall  fall  into  our  hands  as  the  wild  beasts  of 
the  forests." 

The  son  of  Osslah  spoke  with  the  voice  of  command,  and 
the  elders  were  amazed.  "Why  pause  ye?"  he  cried.  "Do 
the  gods  of  the  night  lie?  On  my  head  rest  the  peril  if  I 
deceive  ye." 

Then  the  elders  communed  together;  and  they  went  forth 
and  summoned  the  men  of  arms,  and  all  the  young  of  the 
tribe ;  and  each  man  took  the  sword  and  the  spear,  and  Mor- 
ven  also.  And  the  son  of  Osslah  walked  first,  still  looking 
up  at  the  star,  and  he  motioned  them  to  be  silent,  and  moved 
with  a  stealthy  step. 

So  they  Avent  through  the  thickest  of  the  forest,  till  they 
came  to  the  mouth  of  a  great  cave,  overgrown  with  aged  and 
matted  trees,  and  it  was  called  the  Cave  of  Oberlin;  and  he 
bade  the  leaders  place  the  armed  men  on  either  side  the  cave, 
to  the  right  and  to  the  left,  among  the  bushes. 

So  they  watched  silently  till  the  night  deepened,  when  they 
heard  a  noise  in  the  cave  and  the  sound  of  feet,  and  forth 
came  an  armed  man;  and  the  spear  of  Morven  pierced  him, 
and  he  fell  dead  at  the  mouth  of  the  cave.  Another  and  an- 
other, and  both  fell !  Then  loud  and  long  was  heard  the  war- 
cry  of  Alrich,  and  forth  poured,  as  a  stream  over  a  narrow 
bed,  the  river  of  armed  men.  And  the  sons  of  Oestrich  fell 
upon  them,  and  the  foe  were  sorely  perplexed  and  terrified  by 
the  suddenness  of  the  battle  and  the  darkness  of  the  night; 
and  there  was  a  great  slaughter. 

And  when  the  morning  came,  the  children  of  Oestrich 
counted  the  slain,  and  found  the  leader  of  Alrich  and  the 
chief  men  of  the  tribe  amongst  them ;  and  great  was  the  joy 
thereof.  So  they  went  back  in  triumph  to  the  city,  and  they 
carried  the  brave  son  of  Osslah  on  their  shoulders,  and 
shouted  forth,  "Glory  to  the  servant  of  the  star." 

And  Morven  dwelt  in  the  council  of  the  wise  men. 

Now  the  king  of  the  tribe  had  one  daughter,  and  she  was 
stately  amongst  the  women  of  the  tribe,  and  fair  to  look  upon. 
And  Morven  gazed  upon  her  with  the  eyes  of  love,  but  he  did 
not  dare  to  speak. 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF   THE  RIIIXE.  145 

Now  the  son  of  Osslah  laughed  secretly  at  the  foolishness 
of  men;  he  loved  them  not,  for  they  had  mocked  him;  he 
honoured  them  not,  for  he  had  blinded  the  wisest  of  their 
leaders.  He  shunned  their  feasts  and  merriment,  and  lived 
apart  and  solitary.  The  austerity  of  his  life  increased  the 
mysterious  homage  which  his  commune  with  the  stars  had 
won  liini,  and  the  boldest  of  the  warriors  bowed  his  head  to 
the  favourite  of  the  gods. 

One  day  he  was  wandering  by  the  side  of  the  river,  and  he 
saw  a  large  bird  of  prey  rise  from  the  waters,  and  give  chase 
to  a  hawk  that  had  not  yet  gained  the  full  strength  of  its 
wings.  From  his  youth  the  solitary  Morven  had  loved  to 
watch,  in  the  great  forests  and  by  the  banks  of  the  mighty 
stream,  the  habits  of  the  things  which  nature  has  submitted 
to  man;  and  looking  now  on  the  birds,  he  said  to  himself, 
"Thus  is  it  ever;  by  cunning  or  by  strength  each  thing  wishes 
to  master  its  kind."  While  thus  moralizing,  the  larger  bird 
had  stricken  down  the  hawk,  and  it  fell  terrified  and  panting 
at  his  feet.  Morven  took  the  hawk  in  his  hands,  and  the 
vulture  shrieked  above  him,  wheeling  nearer  and  nearer  to  its 
protected  prey;  but  Morven  scared  away  the  vulture,  and 
placing  the  hawk  in  his  bosom  he  carried  it  home,  and  tended 
it  carefully,  and  fed  it  from  his  hand  until  it  had  regained  its 
strength;  and  the  hawk  knew  him,  and  followed  him  as  a 
dog.  And  JMorven  said,  smiling  to  himself,  "Behold,  the 
credulous  fools  around  me  put  faith  in  the  flight  and  motion 
of  birds.  I  will  teach  this  poor  hawk  to  minister  to  my 
ends."  So  he  tamed  the  bird,  and  tutored  it  according  to  its 
nature;  but  he  concealed  it  carefully  from  others,  and  cher- 
ished it  in  secret. 

The  king  of  the  country  was  old,  and  like  to  die,  and  the 
eyes  of  the  tribe  were  turned  to  his  two  sons,  nor  knew  they 
which  was  the  worthier  to  reign.  And  Morven,  passing 
through  the  forest  one  evening,  saw  the  younger  of  the  two, 
who  was  a  great  hunter,  sitting  mournfully  under  an  oak,  and 
looking  with  musing  eyes  upon  the  ground. 

"  Wherefore  musest  thou,  0  swift-footed  Siror?  "  said  the 
son  of  Osslah;  "and  wherefore  art  thou  sad?" 

10 


146  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE   RHIXE. 

"Thou  canst  not  assist  me,"  answered  the  prince,  sternly; 
"take  thy  way." 

"Nay,"  answered  Morven,  "thou  knowest  not  what  thou 
say  est;   am  I  not  the  favourite  of  the  stars?" 

"Away,  I  am  no  graybeard  whom  the  approach  of  death 
makes  doting :  talk  not  to  me  of  the  stars ;  I  know  only  the 
things  that  my  eye  sees  and  my  ear  drinks  in." 

"Hush,"  said  Morven,  solemnly,  and  covering  his  face; 
"hush!  lest  the  heavens  avenge  thy  rashness.  But,  behold, 
the  stars  have  given  unto  me  to  pierce  the  secret  hearts  of 
others;   and  I  can  tell  thee  the  thoughts  of  thine." 

"  Speak  out,  base-born !  " 

"  Thou  art  the  younger  of  two,  and  thy  name  is  less  known  in 
war  than  the  name  of  thy  brother :  yet  wouldst  thou  desire  to  be 
set  over  his  head,  and  to  sit  on  the  high  seat  of  thy  father?  " 

The  young  man  turned  pale.  "Thou  hast  truth  in  thy 
lips,"  said  he,  with  a  faltering  voice. 

"Not  from  me,  but  from  the  stars,  descends  the  truth." 

"Can  the  stars  grant  my  wish?  " 

"They  can:  let  us  meet  to-morrow."  Thus  saying,  Morven 
passed  into  the  forest. 

The  next  day,  at  noon,  they  met  again. 

"  I  have  consulted  the  gods  of  night,  and  they  have  given 
me  the  power  that  I  prayed  for,  but  on  one  condition." 

"Name  it." 

"That  thou  sacrifice  thy  sister  on  their  altars;  thou  must 
build  up  a  heap  of  stones,  and  take  thy  sister  into  the  wood, 
and  lay  her  on  the  pile,  and  plunge  thy  sword  into  her  heart; 
so  only  shalt  thou  reign." 

The  prince  shuddered,  and  started  to  his  feet,  and  shook 
his  spear  at  the  pale  front  of  Morven. 

"Tremble,"  said  the  son  of  Osslah,  with  a  loud  voice. 
"Hark  to  the  gods  who  threaten  thee  with  death,  that  thou 
hast  dared  to  lift  thine  arm  against  their  servant!" 

As  he  spoke,  the  thunder  rolled  above;  for  one  of  the  fre- 
quent storms  of  the  early  summer  was  about  to  break.  The 
spear  dropped  from  the  prince's  hand;  he  sat  down,  and  cast 
his  eyes  on  the  ground. 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  147 

"Wilt  thou  do  the  bidding  of  the  stars,  and  reign?"  said 
Morven. 

"I  will!  "  cried  Siror,  with  a  desperate  voice. 

"This  evening,  then,  when  the  sun  sets,  thou  wilt  lead  her 
hither,  alone;  I  may  not  attend  thee.  Now,  let  us  pile  the 
stones." 

Silently  the  huntsman  bent  his  vast  strength  to  the  frag- 
ments of  rock  that  Mervon  pointed  to  him,  and  tliey  built  the 
altar,  and  went  their  way. 

And  beautiful  is  the  dying  of  the  great  sun,  when  the  last 
song  of  the  birds  fades  into  the  lap  of  silence;  when  the 
islands  of  the  cloud  are  bathed  in  light,  and  the  first  star 
springs  up  over  the  grave  of  day! 

"Whither  leadest  thou  my  steps,  my  brother?"  said  Orna; 
"  and  why  doth  thy  lip  quiver ;  and  why  dost  thou  turn  away 
thy  face?  " 

"  Is  not  the  forest  beautiful ;  does  it  not  tempt  us  forth,  my 
sister?  " 

"And  wherefore  are  those  heaps  of  stone  piled  together?  " 

"Let  others  answer;  /piled  them  not." 

"Thou  tremblest,  brother:  we  will  return." 

"Not  so;  by  these  stones  is  a  bird  that  my  shaft  pierced  to- 
day,—  a  bird  of  beautiful  plumage  that  I  slew  for  thee." 

"We  are  by  the  pile;  where  hast  thou  laid  the  bird?  " 

"  Here !  "  cried  Siror ;  and  he  seized  the  maiden  in  his  arms, 
and,  casting  her  on  the  rude  altar,  he  drew  forth  his  sword  to 
smite  her  to  the  heart. 

Right  over  the  stones  rose  a  giant  oak,  the  growth  of  im- 
memorial ages ;  and  from  the  oak,  or  from  the  heavens,  broke 
forth  a  loud  and  solemn  voice,  "  Strike  not,  son  of  kings !  the 
stars  forbear  their  own:  the  maiden  thou  shalt  not  slay;  yet 
shalt  thou  reign  over  the  race  of  Oestrich ;  and  thou  shalt  give 
Orna  as  a  bride  to  the  favourite  of  the  stars.  Arise,  and  go 
thy  way ! " 

The  voice  ceased :  the  terror  of  Orna  had  overpowered  for  a 
time  the  springs  of  life ;  and  Siror  bore  her  home  through  the 
wood  in  his  strong  arms. 

"Alas!  "  said  Morven,  when,  at  the  next  day,  he  again  met 


148  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

the  aspiring  prince ;  "  alas !  the  stars  have  ordained  me  a  lot 
which  my  heart  desires  not :  for  I,  lonely  of  life,  and  crippled 
of  shape,  am  insensible  to  the  tires  of  love ;  and  ever,  as  thou 
and  thy  tribe  know,  I  have  shunned  the  eyes  of  women,  for 
the  maidens  laughed  at  my  halting  step  and  my  sullen  feat- 
ures; and  so  in  my  youth  I  learned  betimes  to  banish  all 
thoughts  of  love.  But  since  they  told  me  (as  they  declared 
to  thee),  that  only  through  that  marriage,  thou,  0  beloved 
prince !  canst  obtain  thy  father's  plumed  crown,  I  yield  me  to 
their  will." 

"But,"  said  the  prince,  "not  until  I  am  king  can  I  give 
thee  my  sister  in  marriage;  for  thou  knowest  that  my  sire 
would  smite  me  to  the  dust  if  I  asked  him  to  give  the  flower 
of  our  race  to  the  son  of  the  herdsman  Osslah." 

"Thou  speakest  the  words  of  truth.  Go  home  and  fear  not; 
but,  when  thou  art  king,  the  sacrifice  must  be  made,  and  Orna 
mine.  Alas!  how  can  I  dare  to  lift  mine  eyes  to  her!  But 
so  ordain  the  dread  kings  of  the  night !  —  who  shall  gainsay 
their  word?  " 

"The  day  that  sees  me  king  sees  Orna  thine,"  answered  the 
prince. 

Morven  walked  forth,  as  was  his  wont,  alone ;  and  he  said 
to  himself,  "  The  king  is  old,  yet  may  he  live  long  between 
me  and  mine  hope  1 "  and  he  began  to  cast  in  his  mind  how  he 
might  shorten  the  time.  Thus  absorbed,  he  wandered  on  so 
unheedingly  that  night  advanced,  and  he  had  lost  his  path 
among  the  thick  woods  and  knew  not  how  to  regain  his  home. 
So  he  lay  down  quietly  beneath  a  tree,  and  rested  till  day 
dawned;  then  hunger  came  upon  him,  and  he  searched  among 
the  bushes  for  such  simple  roots  as  those  with  which,  for  he 
was  ever  careless  of  food,  he  was  used  to  appease  the  cravings 
of  nature. 

He  found,  among  other  more  familiar  herbs  and  roots,  a  red 
berry  of  a  sweetish  taste,  which  he  had  never  observed  before. 
He  ate  of  it  sparingly,  and  had  not  proceeded  far  in  the  wood 
before  he  found  his  eyes  swim,  and  a  deadly  sickness  came 
over  him.  For  several  hours  he  lay  convulsed  on  the  ground, 
expecting  death;  but  the  gaunt  spareness  of  his  frame,  and 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  149 

his  unvarying  abstinence,  prevailed  over  the  poison,  and  he 
recovered  slowly,  and  after  great  anguish.  But  he  went  with 
feeble  steps  back  to  the  spot  where  the  berries  grew,  and, 
plucking  several,  hid  them  in  his  bosom,  and  by  nightfall 
regained  the  city. 

The  next  day  he  went  forth  among  his  father's  herds,  and 
seizing  a  lamb,  forced  some  of  the  berries  into  his  stomach, 
and  the  lamb,  escaping,  ran  away,  and  fell  down  dead.  Then 
Morven  took  some  more  of  the  berries  and  boiled  them  down, 
and  mixed  the  juice  with  wine,  and  he  gave  the  wine  in  secret 
to  one  of  his  father's  servants,  and  the  servant  died. 

Then  Morven  sought  the  king,  and  coming  into  his  pres- 
ence, alone,  he  said  unto  him,  "  How  fares  my  lord?  " 

The  king  sat  on  a  couch  made  of  the  skins  of  wolves,  and 
his  eye  was  glassy  and  dim ;  but  vast  were  his  aged  limbs, 
and  huge  was  his  stature,  and  he  had  been  taller  by  a  head 
than  the  children  of  men,  and  none  living  could  bend  the  bow 
he  had  beut  in  youth;  gray,  gaunt,  and  worn,  as  some  mighty 
bones  that  are  dug  at  times  from  the  bosom  of  the  earth, —  a 
relic  of  the  strength  of  old. 

And  the  king  said  faintly,  and  with  a  ghastly  laugh, — 

"The  men  of  my  years  fare  ill.  What  avails  my  strength? 
Better  had  I  been  born  a  cripple  like  thee,  so  should  I  have 
had  nothing  to  lament  in  growing  old." 

The  red  flush  passed  over  Morven's  brow;  but  he  bent 
humbly, — 

"0  king,  what  if  I  could  give  thee  back  thy  youth?  What 
if  I  could  restore  to  thee  the  vigour  which  distinguished  thee 
above  the  sons  of  men,  when  the  warriors  of  Alrich  fell  like 
grass  before  thy  sword?  " 

Then  the  king  uplifted  his  dull  eyes,  and  he  said, — 

"What  meanest  thou,  son  of  Osslah?  Surely  I  hear  much 
of  thy  great  wisdom,  and  how  thou  speakest  nightly  with  the 
stars.  Can  the  gods  of  the  night  give  unto  thee  the  secret  to 
make  the  old  young?  " 

"Tempt  them  not  by  doubt,"  said  Morven,  reverently. 
"All  things  are  possible  to  the  rulers  of  the  dark  hour; 
and,  lo!  the  star  that  loves  thy  servant  spake  to  him  at  the 


150  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

dead  of  night,  and  said,  'Arise,  and  go  unto  the  king;  and 
tell  him  that  the  stars  honour  the  tribe  of  Oestrich,  and  re- 
member how  the  king  bent  his  bow  against  the  sons  of  Alrich; 
wherefore,  look  thou  under  the  stone  that  lies  to  the  right  of 
thy  dwelling,  even  beside  the  pine  tree,  and  thou  shalt  see  a 
vessel  of  clay,  and  in  the  vessel  thou  wilt  find  a  sweet  liquid, 
that  shall  make  the  king  thy  master  forget  his  age  forever.' 
Therefore,  my  lord,  when  the  morning  rose  I  went  forth,  and 
looked  under  the  stone,  and  behold  the  vessel  of  clay;  and 
I  have  brought  it  hither  to  my  lord  the  king." 

"Quick,  slave,  quick!  that  I  may  drink  and  regain  my 
youth!" 

"Nay,  listen,  0  king!  further  said  the  star  to  me, — 

'"It  is  only  at  night,  when  the  stars  have  power,  that  this 
their  gift  will  avail;  wherefore  the  king  must  wait  till  the 
hush  of  the  midnight,  when  the  moon  is  high,  and  then  may 
he  mingle  the  liquid  with  his  wine.  And  he  must  reveal  to 
none  that  he  hath  received  the  gift  from  the  hand  of  the  ser- 
vant of  the  stars.  For  they  do  their  work  in  secret,  and  when 
men  sleep;  therefore  they  love  not  the  babble  of  mouths,  and 
he  who  reveals  their  benefits  shall  surely  die.'" 

"Fear  not,"  said  the  king,  grasping  the  vessel;  "none  shall 
know :  and,  behold,  I  will  rise  on  the  morrow ;  and  my  two 
sons,  wrangling  for  my  crown  —  verily  I  shall  be  younger 
than  they!" 

Then  the  king  laughed  loud;  and  he  scarcely  thanked  the 
servant  of  the  stars,  neither  did  he  promise  him  reward; 
for  the  kings  in  those  days  had  little  thought  save  for 
themselves. 

And  Morven  said  to  him,  "Shall  I  not  attend  my  lord? 
—  for  without  me,  perchance,  the  drug  might  fail  of  its 
effect." 

"Ay,"  said  the  king,  "rest  here." 

"Nay,"  replied  Morven;  "thy  servants  will  marvel  and  talk 
much,  if  they  see  the  son  of  Osslah  sojourning  in  thy  palace. 
So  would  the  displeasure  of  the  gods  of  night  perchance  be 
incurred.  Suffer  that  the  lesser  door  of  the  palace  be  un- 
barred, so  that  at  the  night  hour,  when  the  moon  is  midway 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  151 

in  the  heavens,  I  may  steal  unseen  into  thy  chamber,  and  mix 
the  liquid  with  thy  wine." 

"So  be  it,"  said  the  king.  "Thou  art  wise,  though  thy 
limbs  are  crooked  and  curt;  and  the  stars  might  have  chosen  a 
taller  man."  Then  the  king  laughed  again;  and  Morven 
laughed  too,  but  there  was  danger  in  the  mirth  of  the  son  of 
Osslah. 

The  night  had  begun  to  wane,  and  the  inhabitants  of  Oest- 
rich  were  buried  in  deep  sleep,  when,  hark!  a  sharp  voice 
was  heard  crying  out  in  the  streets,  "Woe,  woe!  Awake, 
ye  sous  of  Oestrich!  woe!"  Then  forth,  wild,  haggard, 
alarmed,  spear  in  hand,  rushed  the  giant  sons  of  the  rugged 
tribe,  and  they  saw  a  man  on  a  height  in  the  middle  of  the 
city,  shrieking  "Woe!"  and  it  was  Morven,  the  son  of 
Osslah!  And  he  said  unto  them,  as  they  gathered  round 
him,  "Men  and  warriors,  tremble  as  ye  hear.  The  star  of 
the  west  hath  spoken  to  me,  and  thus  said  the  star:  'Evil 
shall  fall  upon  the  kingly  house  of  Oestrich, —  yea,  ere  the 
morning  dawn ;  wherefore,  go  thou  mourning  into  the  streets, 
and  wake  the  inhabitants  to  woe ! '  So  I  rose  and  did  the 
bidding  of  the  star."  And  while  Morven  was  yet  speaking, 
a  servant  of  the  king's  house  ran  up  to  the  crowd,  crying 
loudly,  "The  king  is  dead!"  So  they  went  into  the  palace 
and  found  the  king  stark  upon  his  couch,  and  his  huge  limbs 
all  cramped  and  crippled  by  the  pangs  of  death,  and  his 
hands  clenched  as  if  in  menace  of  a  foe,  —  the  Foe  of  all  liv- 
ing flesh!  Then  fear  came  on  the  gazers,  and  they  looked  on 
Morven  with  a  deeper  awe  than  the  boldest  warrior  would 
have  called  forth ;  and  they  bore  him  back  to  the  council-hall 
of  the  wise  men,  wailing  and  clashing  their  arms  in  woe,  and 
shouting,  ever  and  anon,  "Honour  to  Morven  the  prophet!" 
And  that  was  the  first  time  the  word  prophet  was  ever  used 
in  those  countries. 

At  noon,  on  the  third  day  from  the  king's  death,  Siror 
sought  Morven,  and  he  said,  "  Lo,  my  father  is  no  more,  and 
the  people  meet  this  evening  at  sunset  to  elect  his  successor, 
and  the  warriors  and  the  young  men  will  surely  choose  my 
brother,  for  he  is  more  known  in  war.    Fail  me  not  therefore." 


152  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

"Peace,  boy!"  saidMorven,  sternly;  "nor  dare  to  question 
the  truth  of  the  gods  of  night." 

For  Morven  now  began  to  presume  on  his  power  among  the 
people,  and  to  speak  as  rulers  speak,  even  to  the  sons  of 
kings ;  and  the  voice  silenced  the  fiery  Siror,  nor  dared  he  to 
reply. 

"Behold,"  said  Morven,  taking  up  a  chaplet  of  coloured 
plumes,  "wear  this  on  thy  head,  and  put  on  a  brave  face,  for 
the  people  like  a  hopeful  spirit,  and  go  down  with  thy  brother 
to  the  place  where  the  new  king  is  to  be  chosen,  and  leave 
the  rest  to  the  stars.  But,  above  all  things,  forget  not  that 
chaplet;  it  has  been  blessed  by  the  gods  of  night." 

The  prince  took  the  chaplet  and  returned  home. 

It  was  evening,  and  the  warriors  and  chiefs  of  the  tribe 
were  assembled  in  the  place  where  the  new  king  was  to  be 
elected.  And  the  voices  of  the  many  favoured  Prince  Vol- 
toch,  the  brother  of  Siror,  for  he  had  slain  twelve  foemen 
with  his  spear;  and  verily,  in  those  days,  that  was  a  great 
virtue  in  a  king. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  shout  in  the  streets,  and  the  people 
cried  out,  "  Way  for  Morven  the  prophet,  the  prophet !  "  Por 
the  people  held  the  son  of  Osslah  in  even  greater  respect  than 
did  the  chiefs.  Now,  since  he  had  become  of  note,  Morven 
had  assumed  a  majesty  of  air  which  the  son  of  the  herdsman 
knew  not  in  his  earlier  days ;  and  albeit  his  stature  was  short, 
and  his  limbs  halted,  yet  his  countenance  was  grave  and  high. 
He  only  of  the  tribe  wore  a  garment  that  swept  the  ground, 
and  his  head  was  bare  and  his  long  black  hair  descended  to 
his  girdle,  and  rarely  was  change  or  human  passion  seen  in 
his  calm  aspect.  He  feasted  not,  nor  drank  wine,  nor  was  his 
presence  frequent  in  the  streets.  He  laughed  not,  neither 
did  he  smile,  save  when  alone  in  the  forest, —  and  then  he 
laughed  at  the  follies  of  his  tribe. 

So  he  walked  slowly  through  the  crowd,  neither  turning  to 
the  left  nor  to  the  right,  as  the  crowd  gave  way ;  and  he  sup- 
ported his  steps  with  a  staff  of  the  knotted  pine. 

And  when  he  came  to  the  place  where  the  chiefs  were  met, 
and  the  two  princes  stood  in  the  centre,  he  bade  the  people 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  153 

around  him  proclaim  silence;  then  mounting  on  a  huge  frag- 
ment of  rock,  lie  thus  spake  to  the  multitude :  — 

"Princes,  Warriors,  and  Bards!  ye,  0  council  of  the  wise 
men !  and  ye,  0  hunters  of  the  forests  and  snarers  of  the  fishes 
of  the  streams !  hearken  to  Morven,  the  son  of  Osslah.     Ye 
know  that  I  am  lowly  of  race  and  weak  of  limb;  but  did  I 
.  not  give  into  your  hands  the  tribe  of  Alrich,  and  did  ye  not 
slay  them  in  the  dead  of  night  with  a  great  slaughter?    Surely, 
ye  must  know  this  of  himself  did  not  the  herdsman's  son; 
surely  he  was  but  the  agent  of  the  bright  gods  that  love  the 
children  of  Oestrich!     Three  nights  since  when  slumber  was 
on  the  earth,  was  not  my  voice  heard  in  the  streets?    Did 
I  not  proclaim  woe  to  the  kingly  house  of   Oestrich?   and 
verily  the  dark  arm  had  fallen  on  the  bosom  of  the  mighty, 
that  is  no  more.     Could  I  have  dreamed  this  thing  merely  in 
a  dream,  or  was  I  not  as  the  voice  of  the  bright  gods  that 
watch  over  the  tribes  of  Oestrich?     Wherefore,  0  men  and 
chiefs !  scorn  not  the  son  of  Osslah,  but  listen  to  his  words ; 
for  are  they  not  the  wisdom  of  the  stars?     Behold,  last  night, 
I  sat  alone  in  the  valley,  and  the  trees  were  hushed  around, 
and  not  a  breath  stirred;   and  I  looked  upon  the  star  that 
counsels  the  son  of  Osslah;  and  I  said,  'Dread  conqueror  of 
the  cloud!   thou  that  bathest  thy  beauty  in  the  streams  and 
piercest  the  pine-boughs  with  thy  presence ;   behold  thy  ser- 
vant grieved  because  the  mighty  one  hath  passed  away,  and 
many  foes  surround  the  houses  of  my  brethren;  and  it  is  well 
that  they  should  have  a  king  valiant  and  prosperous  in  war, 
the  cherished  of  the  stars.    Wherefore,  0  star!  as  thou  gavest 
into  our  hands  the  warriors  of  Alrich,  and  didst  warn  us  of 
the  fall  of  the  oak  of  our  tribe,  wherefore  I  pray  thee  give 
unto  the  people  a  token  that  they  may  choose  that  king  whom 
the  gods  of  the  night  prefer !  '     Then  a  low  voice,  sweeter  than 
the  music  of  the  bard,  stole  along  the  silence.     'Thy  love  for 
thy  race  is  grateful  to  the  stars  of  night:   go,  then,  son  of 
Osslah,  and  seek  the  meeting  of  the  chiefs  and  the  people  to 
choose  a  king,  and  tell  them  not  to  scorn  thee  because  thou  art 
slow  to  the  chase,  and  little  known  in  war;  for  the  stars  give 
thee  wisdom  as  a  recompense  for  all.     Say  unto  the  people  that 


154  THE  PILGRIMS   OF   THE  RHINE. 

as  the  wise  men  of  the  council  shape  their  lessons  by  the  flight 
of  birds,  so  by  the  flight  of  birds  shall  a  token  be  given  unto 
them,  and  they  shall  choose  their  kings.  For,  saith  the  star  of 
night,  the  birds  are  the  children  of  the  winds,  they  pass  to 
and  fro  along  the  ocean  of  the  air,  and  visit  the  clouds  that 
are  the  war-ships  of  the  gods;  and  their  music  is  but  broken 
melodies  which  they  glean  from  the  harps  above.  Are  they 
not  the  messengers  of  the  storm?  Ere  the  stream  chafes 
against  the  bank,  and  the  rain  descends,  know  ye  not,  by  the 
wail  of  birds  and  their  low  circle  over  the  earth,  that  the  tem- 
pest is  at  hand?  Wherefore,  wisely  do  ye  deem  that  the  chil- 
dren of  the  air  are  the  fit  interpreters  between  the  sons  of 
men  and  the  lords  of  the  world  above.  Say  then  to  the  people 
and  the  chiefs  that  they  shall  take,  from  among  the  doves 
that  build  their  nests  in  the  roof  of  the  palace,  a  white  dove, 
and  they  shall  let  it  loose  in  the  air,  and  verily  the  gods  of 
the  night  shall  deem  the  dove  as  a  prayer  coming  from  the 
people,  and  they  shall  send  a  messenger  to  grant  the  prayer 
and  give  to  the  tribes  of  Oestrich  a  king  worthy  of 
themselves.' 

"With  that  the  star  spoke  no  more." 

Then  the  friends  of  Voltoch  murmured  among  themselves, 
and  they  said,  "Shall  this  man  dictate  to  us  who  shall  be 
king?"  But  the  people  and  the  warriors  shouted,  "Listen  to 
the  star;  do  we  not  give  or  deny  battle  according  as  the  bird 
flies, —  shall  we  not  by  the  same  token  choose  him  by  whom 
the  battle  should  be  led?  "  And  the  thing  seemed  natural  to 
them,  for  it  was  after  the  custom  of  the  tribe.  Then  they 
took  one  of  the  doves  that  built  in  the  roof  of  the  palace,  and 
they  brought  it  to  the  spot  where  Morven  stood,  and  he,  look- 
ing up  to  the  stars  and  muttering  to  himself,  released  the 
bird. 

There  was  a  copse  of  trees  at  a  little  distance  from  the 
spot,  and  as  the  dove  ascended,  a  hawk  suddenly  rose  from 
the  copse  and  pursued  the  dove;  and  the  dove  was  terrified, 
and  soared  circling  high  above  the  crowd,  when  lo,  the  hawk, 
poising  itself  one  moment  on  its  wings,  swooped  with  a  sudden 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  155 

swoop,   and,   abandoning   its   prey,   alighted  on  the   plumed 
head  of  Siror. 

"Behold,"  cried  Morven  in  a  loud  voice,  "behold  your 
king!" 

"Hail,  all  hail  the  king!"  shouted  the  people.  "All  hail 
the  chosen  of  the  stars !  " 

Then  Morven  lifted  his  right  hand  and  the  hawk  left  the 
prince  and  alighted  on  Morven's  shoulder.  "Bird  of  the 
gods ! "  said  he,  reverently,  "  hast  thou  not  a  secret  message 
for  my  ear?  "  Then  the  hawl^  put  its  beak  to  Morven's  ear, 
and  Morven  bowed  his  head  submissively;  and  the  hawk 
rested  with  Morven  from  that  moment  and  would  not  be 
scared  away.  And  Morven  said,  "The  stars  have  sent  me 
this  bird,  that  in  the  day-time  when  I  see  them  not,  we  may 
never  be  without  a  councillor  in  distress." 

So  Siror  was  made  king  and  Morven  the  son  of  Osslah  was 
constrained  by  the  king's  will  to  take  Orna  for  his  wife;  and 
the  people  and  the  chiefs  honoured  Morven  the  prophet  above 
all  the  elders  of  the  tribe. 

One  day  Morven  said  unto  himself,  musing,  "Am  I  not 
already  equal  with  the  king, —  nay,  is  not  the  king  my  ser- 
vant? Did  I  not  place  him  over  the  heads  of  his  brothers? 
Am  I  not,  therefore,  more  fit  to  reign  than  he  is;  shall  I  not 
push  him  from  his  seat?  It  is  a  troublesome  and  stormy 
office  to  reign  over  the  wild  men  of  Oestrich,  to  feast  in  the 
crowded  hall,  and  to  lead  the  warriors  to  the  fray.  Surely  if 
I  feasted  not,  neither  went  out  to  war,  they  might  say,  'This 
is  no  king,  but  the  cripple  Morven;'  and  some  of  the  race  of 
Siror  might  slay  me  secretly.  But  can  I  not  be  greater  far 
than  kings,  and  continue  to  choose  and  govern  them,  living 
as  now  at  mine  own  ease?  Verily  the  stars  shall  give  me  a 
new  palace,  and  many  subjects." 

Among  the  wise  men  was  Darvan ;  and  Morven  feared  him, 
for  his  eye  often  sought  the  movements  of  the  son  of  Osslah. 

And  Morven  said,  "It  were  better  to  trust  this  man  than  to 
blind,  for  surely  I  want  a  helpmate  and  a  -friend."  So  he 
said  to  the  wise  man  as  he  sat  alone  watching  the  setting 
sun, — 


156  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE, 

"It  seemeth  to  me,  0  Darvaii!  that  we  ought  to  build  a 
great  pile  in  honour  of  the  stars,  and  the  pile  should  be  more 
glorious  than  all  the  palaces  of  the  chiefs  and  the  palace  of 
the  king;  for  are  not  the  stars  our  masters?  And  thou  and  I 
should  be  the  chief  dwellers  in  this  new  palace,  and  we  would 
serve  the  gods  of  night  and  fatten  their  altars  with  the  choicest 
of  the  herd  and  the  freshest  of  the  fruits  of  the  earth." 

And  Darvan  said,  "  Thou  speakest  as  becomes  the  servant 
of  the  stars.  But  will  the  people  help  to  build  the  pile?  For 
they  are  a  warlike  race  and  they^  love  not  toil." 

And  Morven  answered,  "  Doubtless  the  stars  will  ordain  the 
work  to  be  done.     Fear  not." 

"  In  truth  thou  art  a  wondrous  man ;  thy  words  ever  come 
to  pass, "  answered  Darvan ;  "  and  I  wish  thou  wouldest  teach 
me,  friend,  the  language  of  the  stars." 

"Assuredly  if  thou  servest  me,  thou  shalt  know,"  answered 
the  proud  Morven;  and  Darvan  was  secretly  wroth  that  the 
son  of  the  herdsman  should  command  the  service  of  an  elder 
and  a  chief. 

And  when  Morven  returned  to  his  wife  he  found  her  weep- 
ing much.  Now  she  loved  the  son  of  Osslah  with  an  exceed- 
ing love,  for  he  was  not  savage  and  fierce  as  the  men  she  had 
known,  and  she  was  proud  of  his  fame  among  the  tribe;  and 
he  took  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her,  and  asked  her  why 
she  wept.  Then  she  told  him  that  her  brother  the  king  had 
visited  her,  and  had  spoken  bitter  words  of  Morven :  "  He 
taketh  from  me  the  affection  of  my  people,"  said  Siror,  "and 
blindeth  them  with  lies.  And  since  he  hath  made  me  king, 
what  if  he  take  my  kingdom  from  me?  Verily  a  new  tale  of 
the  stars  might  undo  the  old."  And  the  king  had  ordered  her 
to  keep  watch  on  Morven's  secrecy,  and  to  see  whether  truth 
was  in  him  when  he  boasted  of  his  commune  with  the  Powers 
of  night. 

But  Orna  loved  Morven  better  than  Siror,  therefore  she 
told  her  husband  all. 

And  Morven  resented  the  king's  ingratitude,  and  was  trou- 
bled much,  for  a  king  is  a  powerful  foe;  but  he  comforted 
Orna,  and  bade  her  dissemble,  and  complain  also  of  him  to 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  157 

her  brother,  so  that  he  might  confide  to  her  unsuspectingly- 
whatsoever  he  might  design  against  Morven. 

There  was  a  cave  by  Morven's  house  in  which  he  kept  the 
sacred  haAvk,  and  wherein  he  secretly  trained  and  nurtured 
other  birds  against  future  need;  and  the  door  of  the  cave  was 
always  barred.  And  one  day  he  was  thus  engaged  when  he 
beheld  a  chink  in  the  wall  that  he  had  never  noted  before, 
and  the  sun  came  playfully  in ;  and  while  he  looked  he  per- 
ceived the  sunbeam  was  darkened,  and  presently  he  saw  a 
human  face  peering  in  through  the  chink.  And  Morven  trem- 
bled, for  he  knew  he  had  been  watched.  He  ran  hastily  from 
the  cave ;  but  the  spy  had  disappeared  among  the  trees,  and 
Morven  went  straight  to  the  chamber  of  Darvan  and  sat  him- 
self down.  And  Darvan  did  not  return  home  till  late,  and  he 
started  and  turned  pale  when  he  saw  Morven.  But  Morven 
greeted  him  as  a  brother,  and  bade  him  to  a  feast,  which,  for 
the  first  time,  he  purposed  giving  at  the  full  of  the  moon,  in 
honour  of  the  stars.  And  going  out  of  Darvan's  chamber  he 
returned  to  his  wife,  and  bade  her  rend  her  hair,  and  go  at 
the  dawn  of  day  to  the  king  her  brother,  and  complain  bit- 
terly of  Morven's  treatment,  and  pluck  the  black  plans  from 
the  breast  of  the  king.  "  For  surely, "  said  he,  "  Darvan  hath 
lied  to  thy  brother,  and  some  evil  waits  me  that  I  would  fain 
know." 

So  the  next  morning  Orna  sought  the  king,  and  she  said, 
"The  herdsman's  son  hath  reviled  me,  and  spoken  harsh 
words  to  me;  shall  I  not  be  avenged?" 

Then  the  king  stamped  his  feet  and  shook  his  mighty 
sword.  "Surely  thou  shalt  be  avenged;  for  I  have  learned 
from  one  of  the  elders  that  which  convinceth  me  that  the  man 
hath  lied  to  the  people,  and  the  base-born  shall  surely  die. 
Yea,  the  first  time  that  he  goeth  alone  into  the  forest  my 
brother  and  I  will  fall  upon  him  and  smite  him  to  the  death." 
And  with  this  comfort  Siror  dismissed  Orna. 

And  Orna  flung  herself  at  the  feet  of  her  husband.  "  Fly 
now,  0  my  beloved !  —  fly  into  the  forests  afar  from  my  breth- 
ren, or  surely  the  sword  of  Siror  will  end  thy  days." 

Then  the  son  of  Osslah  folded  his  arms,  and  seemed  buried 


158  THE  PILGKBIS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

in  black  thoughts;  nor  did  he  heed  the  voice  of  Orna,  until 
again  and  again  she  had  implored  him  to  fly. 

"Fly!"  he  said  at  length.  *'Xay,  I  was  doubting  what 
punishment  the  stars  should  pour  down  upon  our  foe.  Let 
warriors  fly.  Morven  the  prophet  conquers  by  arms  mightier 
than  the  sword." 

Nevertheless  Morven  was  perplexed  in  his  mind,  and  knew 
not  how  to  save  himself  from  the  vengeance  of  the  king, 
Now,  while  he  was  musing  hopelessly  he  heard  a  roar  of 
waters;  and  behold,  the  river,  for  it  was  now  the  end  of 
autumn,  had  burst  its  bounds,  and  was  rushing  along  the  val- 
ley to  the  houses  of  the  city.  And  now  the  men  of  the  tribe, 
and  the  women,  and  the  children,  came  running,  and  with 
shrieks,  to  Morven's  house,  crying,  "Behold,  the  river  has 
burst  upon  us !     Save  us,  0  ruler  of  the  stars !  " 

Then  the  sudden  thought  broke  upon  Morven,  and  he  re- 
solved to  risk  his  fate  upon  one  desperate  scheme. 

And  he  came  out  from  the  house  calm  and  sad,  and  he  said, 
"  Ye  know  not  what  ye  ask ;  I  cannot  save  ye  from  this  peril : 
ye  have  brought  it  on  yourselves."  And  they  cried,  "How? 
0  son  of  Osslah!     We  are  ignorant  of  our  crime." 

And  he  answered,  "Go  down  to  the  king's  palace  and  wait 
before  it,  and  surely  I  will  follow  ye,  and  ye  shall  learn 
wherefore  ye  have  incurred  this  punishment  from  the  gods." 
Then  the  crowd  rolled  murmuring  back,  as  a  receding  sea; 
and  when  it  was  gone  from  the  place,  Morven  went  alone  to 
the  house  of  Darvan,  which  was  next  his  own.  And  Darvan 
was  greatly  terrified;  for  he  was  of  a  great  age,  and  had  no 
children,  neither  friends,  and  he  feared  that  he  could  not  of 
himself  escape  the  waters. 

And  Morven  said  to  him  soothingly,  "  Lo,  the  people  love 
me,  and  I  will  see  that  thou  art  saved ;  for  verily  thou  hast 
been  friendly  to  me,  and  done  me  much  service  with  the 
king." 

And  as  he  thus  spake,  Morven  opened  the  door  of  the  house 
and  looked  forth,  and  saw  that  they  were  quite  alone.  Then 
he  seized  the  old  man  by  the  throat  and  ceased  not  his  gripe 
till  he  was  quite  dead;  and  leaving  the  body  of  the  elder  on 


THE   PILGRIMS   OF   THE   RIIIXE.  159 

the  floor,  Morven  stole  from  the  house  and  shut  the  gate. 
And  as  he  was  going  to  his  cave  he  mused  a  little  while, 
when,  hearing  the  mighty  roar  of  the  waves  advancing,  and 
far  off  the  shrieks  of  women,  he  lifted  up  his  head  and  said 
proudly,  "No,  iu  this  hour  terror  alone  shall  be  my  slave;  I 
will  use  no  art  save  the  power  of  my  soul."  So,  leaning  on 
his  pine-staff,  he  strode  down  to  the  palace.  And  it  was  now 
evening,  and  many  of  the  men  held  torches,  that  they  might 
see  each  other's  faces  in  the  universal  fear.  Red  flashed  the 
quivering  flames  on  the  dark  robes  and  pale  front  of  Morven ; 
and  he  seemed  mightier  than  the  rest,  because  his  face  alone 
was  calm  amidst  the  tumult.  And  louder  and  hoarser  became 
the  roar  of  the  waters ;  and  swift  rushed  the  shades  of  night 
over  the  hastening  tide. 

And  Morven  said  in  a  stern  voice.  "Where  is  the  king;  and 
wherefore  is  he  absent  from  his  people  in  the  hour  of  dread?" 
Then  the  gate  of  the  palace  opened,  and,  behold,  Siror  was 
sitting  in  the  hall  by  the  vast  pine-tire,  and  his  brother  by 
his  side,  and  his  chiefs  around  him :  for  they  would  not  deign 
to  come  amongst  the  crowd  at  the  bidding  of  the  herdsman's 
son. 

Then  Morven,  standing  upon  a  rock  above  the  heads  of  the 
people  (the  same  rock  whereon  he  had  proclaimed  the  king), 
thus  spake :  — 

"Ye  desired  to  know,  0  sons  of  Oestrich!  wherefore  the 
river  hath  burst  its  bounds,  and  the  peril  hath  come  upon  you. 
Learn,  then,  that  the  stars  resent  as  the  foulest  of  human 
crimes  an  insult  to  their  servants  and  delegates  below.  Ye 
are  all  aware  of  the  manner  of  life  of  Morven,  whom  ye  have 
surnamed  the  Prophet!  He  harms  not  man  nor  beast;  he 
lives  alone ;  and,  far  from  the  wild  joys  of  the  warrior  tribe, 
he  worships  in  awe  and  fear  the  Powers  of  Night.  So  is  he 
able  to  advise  ye  of  the  coming  danger, —  so  is  he  able  to  save 
ye  from  the  foe.  Thus  are  your  huntsmen  swift  and  your 
warriors  bold;  and  thus  do  your  cattle  bring  forth  their 
young,  and  the  earth  its  fruits.  What  think  ye,  and  what 
do  ye  ask  to  hear?  Listen,  men  of  Oestrich!  —  they  have 
laid  snares  for  my  life ;  and  there  are  amongst  you  those  who 


160  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

have  whetted  the  sword  against  the  bosom  that  is  only  filled 
with  love  for  you  all.  Therefore  have  the  stern  lords  of 
heaven  loosened  the  chains  of  the  river;  therefore  doth  this 
evil  menace  ye.  Neither  will  it  pass  away  until  they  who 
dug  the  pit  for  the  servant  of  the  stars  are  buried  in  the 
same." 

Then,  by  the  red  torches,  the  faces  of  the  men  looked  fierce 
and  threatening ;  and  ten  thousand  voices  shouted  forth,  "  Name 
them  who  conspired  against  thy  life,  0  holy  prophet,  and 
surely  they  shall  be  torn  limb  from  limb." 

And  Morven  turned  aside,  and  they  saw  that  he  wept  bit- 
terly; and  he  said, — 

"  Ye  have  asked  me,  and  I  have  answered :  but  now  scarce 
will  ye  believe  the  foe  that  I  have  provoked  against  me ;  and 
by  the  heavens  themselves  I  swear,  that  if  my  death  would 
satisfy  their  fury,  nor  bring  down  upon  yourselves  and  your 
children's  children  the  anger  of  the  throned  stars,  gladly 
would  I  give  my  bosom  to  the  knife.  Yes,"  he  cried,  lifting 
up  his  voice,  and  pointing  his  shadowy  arm  towards  the  hall 
where  the  king  sat  by  the  pine-fire,  —  "  yes,  thou  whom  by  my 
voice  the  stars  chose  above  thy  brother;  yes,  Siror,  the  guilty 
one!  take  thy  sword,  and  come  hither;  strike,  if  thou  hast 
the  heart  to  strike,  the  Prophet  of  the  Gods!  " 

The  king  started  to  his  feet,  and  the  crowd  were  hushed  in 
a  shuddering  silence. 

Morven  resumed :  — 

"  Know  then,  0  men  of  Oestrich,  that  Siror  and  Voltoch  his 
brother,  and  Darvan  the  elder  of  the  wise  men,  have  purposed 
to  slay  your  prophet,  even  at  such  hour  as  when  alone  he 
seeks  the  shade  of  the  forest  to  devise  new  benefits  for  you. 
Let  the  king  deny  it,  if  he  can!  " 

Then  Voltoch,  of  the  giant  limbs,  strode  forth  from  the  hall, 
and  his  spear  quivered  in  his  hand. 

"  Kightly  hast  thou  spoken,  base  son  of  my  father's  herds- 
man! and  for  thy  sins  shalt  thou  surely  die;  for  thou  liest 
when  thou  speakest  of  thy  power  with  the  stars,  and  thou 
laughest  at  the  folly  of  them  who  hear  thee :  wherefore  put 
him  to  death." 


THE   PILGRIMS   OF   THE   RIIIXE.  161 

Then  the  chiefs  in  the  hall  clashed  their  arms,  and  rushed 
forth  to  slay  the  son  of  Osslah. 

But  he,  stretching  his  unarmed  hands  on  high,  ex- 
claimed, "Hear  him,  0  dread  ones  of  the  night!  Hark  how 
he  blasphemeth !  " 

Then  the  crowd  took  up  the  word,  and  cried,  "He  blas- 
phemeth! he  blasphemeth  against  the  prophet!" 

But  the  king  and  the  chiefs,  who  hated  Morven  because  of 
his  power  with  the  people,  rushed  into  the  crowd;  and  the 
crowd  were  irresolute,  nor  knew  they  how  to  act,  for  never 
yet  had  they  rebelled  against  their  chiefs,  and  they  feared 
alike  the  prophet  and  the  king. 

And  Siror  cried,  "Summon  Darvan  to  us,  for  he  hath 
watched  the  steps  of  Morven,  and  he  shall  lift  the  veil  from 
my  people's  eyes."  Then  three  of  the  swift  of  foot  started 
forth  to  the  house  of  Darvan. 

And  Morven  cried  out  with  a  loud  voice,  "Hark!  thus 
saith  the  star,  who,  now  riding  through  yonder  cloud,  breaks 
forth  upon  my  eyes,  'For  the  lie  that  the  elder  hath  uttered 
against  my  servant,  the  curse  of  the  stars  shall  fall  upon 
him.'  Seek,  and  as  ye  find  him  so  may  ye  find  ever  the  foes 
of  Morven  and  the  gods !  " 

A  chill  and  an  icy  fear  fell  over  the  crowd,  and  even  the- 
cheek  of  Siror  grew  pale;  and  Morven,  erect  and  dark  above 
the  waving  torches,  stood  motionless  with  folded  arms.  And 
hark!  —  far  and  fast  came  on  the  war-steeds  of  the  wave;  the- 
people  heard  them  marching  to  the  land,  and  tossing  their- 
white  manes  in  the  roaring  wind. 

"Lo,  as  ye  listen,"  said  Morven,  calmly,  "the  river  sweeps: 
on.  Haste,  for  the  gods  will  have  a  victim,  be  it  your  prophet 
or  your  king." 

"  Slave ! "  shouted  Siror,  and  his  spear  left  his  hand,  and 
far  above  the  heads  of  the  crowd  sped  hissing  beside  the  dark 
form  of  Morven,  and  rent  the  trunk  of  the  oak  behind.  Then 
the  people,  wroth  at  the  danger  of  their  beloved  seer,  uttered 
a  wild  yell,  and  gathered  round  him  with  brandished  swords, 
facing  their  chieftains  and  their  king.  But  at  that  instant, 
ere  the  war  had  broken  forth  among  the  tribe,  the  three  war- 

11 


162  THE  PILGRBIS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

riors  returned,  and  they  bore  Darvan  on  their  shoulders,  and 
laid  him  at  the  feet  of  the  king,  and  they  said  tremblingly, 
"Thus  found  we  the  elder  in  the  centre  of  his  own  hall." 
And  the  people  saw  that  Darvan  was  a  corpse,  and  that  the 
prediction  of  Morven  was  thus  verified.  "  So  perish  the  ene- 
mies of  Morven  and  the  stars !  "  cried  the  son  of  Osslah.  And 
the  people  echoed  the  cry.  Then  the  fury  of  Siror  was  at  its 
height,  and  waving  his  sword  above  his  head  he  plunged  into 
the  crowd,  "  Thy  blood,  baseborn,  or  mine !  " 

"So  be  it!"  answered  Morven,  quailing  not.  "People, 
smite  the  blasphemer!  Hark  how  the  river  pours  down  upon 
your  children  and  your  hearths  !     On,  on,  or  ye  perish ! " 

And  Siror  fell,  pierced  by  five  hundred  spears. 

"  Smite !  smite !  "  cried  Morven,  as  the  chiefs  of  the  royal 
house  gathered  round  the  king.  And  the  clash  of  swords,  and 
the  gleam  of  spears,  and  the  cries  of  the  dying,  and  the  yell 
of  the  trampling  people  mingled  with  the  roar  of  the  elements, 
and  the  voices  of  the  rushing  wave. 

Three  hundred  of  the  chiefs  perished  that  night  by  the 
swords  of  their  own  tribe;  and  the  last  cry  of  the  victors 
was,  "  Morven  the  prophet !  Morven  the  king !  " 

And  the  son  of  Osslah,  seeing  the  waves  now  spreading  over 
the  valley,  led  Orna  his  wife,  and  the  men  of  Oestrich,  their 
women,  and  their  children,  to  a  high  mount,  where  they 
waited  the  dawning  sun.  But  Orna  sat  apart  and  wept  bit- 
terly, for  her  brothers  were  no  more,  and  her  race  had  per- 
ished from  the  earth.  And  Morven  sought  to  comfort  her  in 
vain. 

When  the  morning  rose,  they  saw  that  the  river  had  over- 
spread the  greater  part  of  the  city,  and  now  stayed  its  course 
among  the  hollows  of  the  vale.  Then  Morven  said  to  the 
people,  "The  star-kings  are  avenged,  and  their  wrath  ap- 
peased. Tarry  only  here  until  the  waters  have  melted  into 
the  crevices  of  the  soil."  And  on  the  fourth  day  they  re- 
turned to  the  city,  and  no  man  dared  to  name  another,  save 
Morven,  as  the  king. 

But  Morven  retired  into  his  cave  and  mused  deeply;  and 
then  assembling  the  people,  he  gave  them  new  laws;  and  he 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  163 

made  tliem  build  a  mighty  temple  in  honour  of  the  stars,  and 
made  them  heap  within  it  all  that  the  tribe  held  most  pre- 
cious. And  he  took  unto  him  fifty  children  from  the  most 
famous  of  the  tribe;  and  he  took  also  ten  from  among  the 
men  who  had  served  him  best,  and  he  ordained  that  they 
should  serve  the  stars  in  the  great  temple :  and  Morven  was 
their  chief.  And  he  put  away  the  crown  they  pressed  upon 
him,  and  he  chose  from  among  the  elders  a  new  king.  And 
he  ordained  that  henceforth  the  servants  only  of  the  stars  in 
the  great  temple  should  elect  the  king  and  the  rulers,  and 
hold  council,  and  proclaim  war;  but  he  suffered  the  king  to 
feast,  and  to  hunt,  and  to  make  merry  in  the  banquet-halls. 
And  Morven  built  altars  in  the  temple,  and  was  the  first  who, 
in  the  North,  sacrificed  the  beast  and  the  bird,  and  afterwards 
human  flesh,  upon  the  altars.  And  he  drew  auguries  from  the 
entrails  of  the  victim,  and  made  schools  for  the  science  of  the 
prophet;  and  Morven's  piety  was  the  wonder  of  the  tribe, — 
in  that  he  refused  to  be  a  king.  And  Morven  the  high  priest 
was  ten  thousand  times  mightier  than  the  king.  He  taught 
the  people  to  till  the  ground  and  to  sow  the  herb;  and  by  his 
wisdom,  and  the  valour  that  his  prophecies  instilled  into 
men,  he  conquered  all  the  neighbouring  tribes.  And  the  sons 
of  Oestrich  spread  themselves  over  a  mighty  empire,  and  with 
them  spread  the  name  and  the  laws  of  Morven.  And  in  every 
province  which  he  conquered,  he  ordered  them  to  build  a  tem- 
ple to  the  stars. 

But  a  heavy  sorrow  fell  upon  the  fears  of  Morven.  The 
sister  of  Siror  bowed  down  her  head,  and  survived  not  long 
the  slaughter  of  her  race.  And  she  left  Morven  childless. 
And  he  mourned  bitterly  and  as  one  distraught,  for  her  only 
in  the  world  had  his  heart  the  power  to  love.  And  he  sat 
down  and  covered  his  face,  saying :  — 

"  Lo !  I  have  toiled  and  travailed ;  and  never  before  in  the 
world  did  man  conquer  what  I  have  conquered.  Verily  the 
empire  of  the  iron  thews  and  the  giant  limbs  is  no  more!  I 
have  founded  a  new  power,  that  henceforth  shall  sway  the 
lands, —  the  empire  of  a  plotting  brain  and  a  commanding 
mind.     But,  behold!  my  fate  is  barren,  and  I  feel  already 


164  THE  PILGRBIS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

that  it  will  grow  neither  fruit  nor  tree  as  a  shelter  to  mine 
old  age.  Desolate  and  lonely  shall  I  pass  unto  my  grave. 
0  Orna!  my  beautiful!  my  loved!  none  were  like  unto  thee, 
and  to  thy  love  do  I  owe  my  glory  and  my  life !  Would  for  thy 
sake,  O  sweet  bird!  that  nestled  in  the  dark  cavern  of  my 
heart, —  would  for  thy  sake  that  thy  brethren  had  been  spared, 
for  verily  with  my  life  would  I  have  purchased  thine.  Alas! 
only  when  I  lost  thee  did  I  fiud  that  thy  love  was  dearer  to 
me  than  the  fear  of  others !  "  And  Morven  mourned  night 
and  day,  and  none  might  comfort  him. 

But  from  that  time  forth  he  gave  himself  solely  up  to  the 
cares  of  his  calling;  and  his  nature  and  his  affections,  and 
whatever  there  was  yet  left  soft  in  him,  grew  hard  like  stone; 
and  he  was  a  man  without  love,  and  he  forbade  love  and  mar- 
riage to  the  priest. 

Now,  in  his  latter  years,  there  arose  other  prophets;  for 
the  world  had  grown  wiser  even  by  Morven's  wisdom,  and 
some  did  say  unto  themselves,  "Behold  Morven,  the  herds- 
man's son,  is  a  king  of  kings:  this  did  the  stars  for  their 
servant;  shall  we  not  also  be  servants  to  the  star?" 

And  they  wore  black  garments  like  Morven,  and  went  about 
prophesying  of  what  the  stars  foretold  them.  And  Morven 
was  exceeding  wroth;  for  he,  more  than  other  men,  knew 
that  the  prophets  lied.  Wherefore  he  went  forth  against 
them  with  the  ministers  of  the  temple,  and  he  took  them, 
and  burned  them  by  a  slow  fire;  for  thus  said  Morven  to 
the  people :  "  A  true  prophet  hath  honour,  but  I  only  am  a 
true  prophet;  to  all  false  prophets  there  shall  be  surely 
death." 

And  the  people  applauded  the  piety  of  the  son  of  Osslah. 

And  Morven  educated  the  wisest  of  the  children  in  the 
mysteries  of  the  temple,  so  that  they  grew  up  to  succeed  him 
worthily. 

And  he  died  full  of  years  and  honour ;  and  they  carved  his 
effigy  on  a  mighty  stone  before  the  temple,  and  the  effigy  en- 
dured for  a  thousand  ages,  and  whoso  looked  on  it  trembled ; 
for  the  face  was  calm  with  the  calmness  of  unspeakable 
awe! 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF   THE  RHINE.  165 

And  Morven  was  the  first  mortal  of  the  North  that  made 
Religion  the  stepping-stone  to  Power.  Of  a  surety  Morven 
was  a  great  man! 

It  was  the  last  night  of  the  old  year,  and  the  stars  sat,  each 
upon  his  ruby  throne,  and  watched  with  sleepless  eyes  upon 
the  world.  The  night  was  dark  and  troubled,  the  dread 
winds  were  abroad,  and  fast  and  frequent  hurried  the  clouds 
beneath  the  thrones  of  the  kings  of  night.  And  ever  and 
anon  fiery  meteors  flashed  along  the  depths  of  heaven,  and 
were  again  swallowed  up  in  the  grave  of  darkness.  But  far 
below  his  brethren,  and  with  a  lurid  haze  around  his  orb, 
sat  the  discontented  star  that  had  watched  over  the  hunters 
of  the  North. 

And  on  the  lowest  abyss  of  space  there  was  spread  a  thick 
and  mighty  gloom,  from  which,  as  from  a  caldron,  rose  col- 
umns of  wreathing  smoke;  and  still,  when  the  great  winds 
rested  for  an  instant  on  their  paths,  voices  of  woe  and  laugh- 
ter, mingled  with  shrieks,  were  heard  booming  from  the  abyss 
to  the  upper  air. 

And  now,  in  the  middest  night,  a  vast  figure  rose  slowly 
from  the  abyss,  and  its  wings  threw  blackness  over  the  world. 
High  upward  to  the  throne  of  the  discontented  star  sailed  the 
fearful  shape,  and  the  star  trembled  on  his  throne  when  the 
form  stood  before  him  face  to  face. 

And  the  shape  said,  "  Hail,  brother !  all  hail !  " 

"I  know  thee  not,"  answered  the  star;  "thou  art  not  the 
archangel  that  visitest  the  kings  of  night." 

And  the  shape  laughed  loud.  "I  am  the  fallen  star  of  the 
morning!  I  am  Lucifer,  thy  brother!  Hast  thou  not,  0 
sullen  king,  served  me  and  mine ;  and  hast  thou  not  wrested 
the  earth  from  thy  Lord  who  sittest  above,  and  given  it  to 
me,  by  darkening  the  souls  of  men  with  the  religion  of  fear? 
Wherefore  come,  brother,  come ;  thou  hast  a  throne  prepared 
beside  my  own  in  the  fiery  gloom.  Come !  The  heavens  are 
no  more  for  thee !  " 

Then  the  star  rose  from  his  throne,  and  descended  to  the 
side  of  Lucifer;    for  ever  hath  the  spirit  of  discontent  had 


166  THE  PILGRIMS  OF   THE  KHIXE. 

sympathy  with  the  soul  of  pride.  And  they  sank  slowly 
down  to  the  gulf  of  gloom. 

It  was  the  first  night  of  the  new  year,  and  the  stars  sat 
each  on  his  ruby  throne,  and  watched  with  sleepless  eyes  upon 
the  world.  But  sorrow  dimmed  the  bright  faces  of  the  kings 
of  night,  for  they  mourned  in  silence  and  in  fear  for  a  fallen 
brother. 

And  the  gates  of  the  heaven  of  heavens  flew  open  with  a 
golden  sound,  and  the  swift  archangel  fled  down  on  his  silent 
wings ;  and  the  archangel  gave  to  each  of  the  stars,  as  before, 
the  message  of  his  Lord,  and  to  each  star  was  his  appointed 
charge.  And  when  the  heraldry  seemed  done  there  came  a 
laugh  from  the  abyss  of  gloom,  and  half-way  from  the  gulf 
rose  the  lurid  shape  of  Lucifer  the  flend! 

"  Thou  countest  thy  flock  ill,  0  radiant  shepherd !  Behold ! 
one  star  is  missing  from  the  three  thousand  and  ten!  " 

"  Back  to  thy  gulf,  false  Lucifer !  —  the  throne  of  thy  brother 
hath  been  filled." 

And,  lo!  as  the  archangel  spake,  the  stars  beheld  a  young 
and  all-lustrous  stranger  on  the  throne  of  the  erring  star;  and 
his  face  was  so  soft  to  look  upon  that  the  dimmest  of  human 
eyes  might  have  gazed  upon  its  splendour  unabashed :  but  the 
dark  fiend  alone  was  dazzled  by  its  lustre,  and,  with  a  yell 
that  shook  the  flaming  pillars  of  the  universe,  he  plunged 
backward  into  the  gloom. 

Then,  far  and  sweet  from  the  arch  unseen,  came  forth  the 
voice  of  God, — 

"Behold!  on  the  throne  of  the  discontented  star  sits  the 
star  of  Hope;  .and  he  that  breathed  into  mankind  the  religion 
of  Fear  hath  a  successor  in  him  who  shall  teach  earth  the 
religion  of  Love !  " 

And  evermore  the  star  of  Fear  dwells  with  Lucifer,  and  the 
star  of  Love  keeps  vigil  in  heaven! 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE   RHINE.  167 


CHAPTER   XX. 

GLENHAUSEN.  —  THE  POWER  OF  LOVE  IN  SANCTIFIED  PLACES. 
A  PORTRAIT  OF  FREDERICK  BARBAROSSA.  THE  AMBI- 
TION   OF    MEN    FINDS    NO    ADEQUATE    SYMPATHY    IN    "WOMEN. 

"You  made  me  tremble  for  you  more  than  once,"  said  Ger- 
trude to  the  student ;  "  I  feared  you  were  about  to  touch  upon 
ground  really  sacred,  but  your  end  redeemed  all." 

"  The  false  religion  always  tries  to  counterfeit  the  garb,  the 
language,  the  aspect  of  the  true,"  answered  the  German;  "for 
that  reason,  I  purposely  suffered  my  tale  to  occasion  that  very 
fear  and  anxiety  you  speak  of,  conscious  that  the  most  scrupu- 
lous would  be  contented  when  the  whole  was  finished." 

This  German  was  one  of  a  new  school,  of  which  England 
as  yet  knows  nothing.  We  shall  see  hereafter  what  it  will 
produce. 

The  student  left  them  at  Friedberg,  and  our  travellers  pro- 
ceeded to  Glenhausen, —  a  spot  interesting  to  lovers;  for  here 
Frederick  the  First  was  won  by  the  beauty  of  Gela,  and,  in 
the  midst  of  an  island  vale,  he  built  the  Imperial  Palace,  in 
honour  of  the  lady  of  his  love.  This  spot  is,  indeed,  well 
chosen  of  itself;  the  mountains  of  the  Rhinegebiirg  close  it  in 
with  the  green  gloom  of  woods  and  the  glancing  waters  of  the 
Kinz. 

"Still,  wherever  we  go,"  said  Trevylyan,  "we  find  all  tra- 
dition is  connected  with  love;  and  history,  for  that  reason, 
hallows  less  than  romance." 

"It  is  singular,"  said  Vane,  moralizing,  "that  love  makes 
but  a  small  part  of  our  actual  lives,  but  is  yet  the  master-key 
to  our  sympathies.  The  hardest  of  us,  who  laugh  at  the  pas- 
sion when  they  see  it  palpably  before  them,  are  arrested  by 
some  dim  tradition  of  its  existence  in  the  past.  It  is  as  if 
life  had  few  opportunities  of  bringing  out  certain  qualities 


168  THE  PILGRIMS  OF   THE  RHIXE. 

within  us,  so  tliat  they  always  remain  untold  and  dormant, 
susceptible  to  thought,  but  deaf  to  action." 

"You  refine  and  mystify  too  much,"  said  Trevylyan,  smil- 
ing; "none  of  us  have  any  faculty,  any  passion,  uncalled 
forth,  if  we  have  really  loved,  though  but  for  a  day." 

Gertrude  smiled,  and  drawing  her  arm  within  his,  Trevyl- 
yan left  Vane  to  philosophize  on  passion,  —  a  fit  occupation 
for  one  who  had  never  felt  it. 

"Here  let  us  pause,"  said  Trevylyan,  afterwards,  as  they 
visited  the  remains  of  the  ancient  palace,  and  the  sun  glit- 
tered on  the  scene,  "to  recall  the  old  chivalric  day  of  the  gal- 
lant Barbarossa;  let  us  suppose  him  commencing  the  last 
great  action  of  his  life;  let  us  picture  him  as  setting  out  for 
the  Holy  Land.  Imagine  him  issuing  from  those  walls  on  his 
white  charger, — his  fiery  eye  somewhat  dimmed  by  years,  and 
his  hair  blanched ;  but  nobler  from  the  impress  of  time  itself, 
—  the  clang  of  arms ;  the  tramp  of  steeds ;  banners  on  high ; 
music  pealing  from  hill  to  hill ;  the  red  cross  and  the  nodding 
plume ;  the  sun,  as  now  glancing  on  yonder  trees ;  and  thence 
reflected  from  the  burnished  arms  of  the  Crusaders.  But, 
Gela  — " 

"Ah,"  said  Gertrude,  "sAe  must  be  no  more;  for  she  would 
have  outlived  her  beauty,  and  have  found  that  glory  had  now 
no  rival  in  his  breast.  Glory  consoles  men  for  the  death  of 
the  loved;  but  glory  is  infidelity  to  the  living." 

"Nay,  not  so,  dearest  Gertrude,"  said  Trevylyan,  quickly; 
"for  my  darling  dream  of  Fame  is  the  hope  of  laying  its  hon- 
ours at  your  feet!  And  if  ever,  in  future  years,  I  should  rise 
above  the  herd,  I  should  only  ask  if  your  step  were  proud  and 
your  heart  elated." 

"I  was  wrong,"  said  Gertrude,  with  tears  in  her  eyes;  "and 
for  your  sake  I  can  be  ambitious." 

Perhaps  there,  too,  she  was  mistaken;  for  one  of  the  com- 
mon disappointments  of  the  heart  is,  that  women  have  so 
rarely  a  sympathy  in  our  better  and  higher  aspirings.  Their 
ambition  is  not  for  great  things;  they  cannot  understand  that 
desire  "which  scorns  delight,  and  loves  laborious  days."  If 
they  love  us,  they  usually  exact  too  much.     They  are  jealous 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE   RIIIXE.  169 

of  the  ambition  to  which  we  sacrifice  so  largely,  and  which 
divides  us  from  them;  and  they  leave  the  stern  passion  of 
great  minds  to  the  only  solitude  which  affection  cannot  share. 
To  aspire  is  to  be  alone ! 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

VIEW     OF      EHRENBREITSTEIN.  A    NEW    ALARM    IN    GER- 

TRUDE's    HEALTH.  TRARBACH. 

Another  time  our  travellers  proceeded  from  Coblentz  to 
Treves,  following  the  course  of  the  Moselle.  They  stopped 
on  the  opposite  bank  below  the  bridge  that  unites  Coblentz 
with  the  Petersberg,  to  linger  over  the  superb  view  of  Ehren- 
breitstein  which  you  may  there  behold. 

It  was  one  of  those  calm  noonday  scenes  which  impress 
upon  us  their  own  bright  and  voluptuous  tranquillity.  There 
stood  the  old  herdsman  leaning  on  his  staff,  and  the  quiet 
cattle  knee-deep  in  the  gliding  waters.  Never  did  stream 
more  smooth  and  sheen  than  was  at  that  hour  the  surface  of 
the  Moselle  mirror  the  images  of  the  pastoral  life.  Beyond, 
the  darker  shadows  of  the  bridge  and  of  the  walls  of  Coblentz 
fell  deep  over  the  waves,  checkered  by  the  tall  sails  of  the 
craft  that  were  moored  around  the  harbour.  But  clear  against 
the  sun  rose  the  spires  and  roofs  of  Coblentz,  backed  by  many 
a  hill  sloping  away  to  the  horizon.  High,  dark,  and  massive, 
on  the  opposite  bank,  swelled  the  towers  and  rock  of  Ehren- 
breitstein, —  a  type  of  that  great  chivalric  spirit  —  the  honour 
that  the  rock  arrogates  for  its  name  —  which  demands  so  many 
sacrifices  of  blood  and  tears,  but  which  ever  creates  in  the 
restless  heart  of  man  a  far  deeper  interest  than  the  more 
peaceful  scenes  of  life  by  which  it  is  contrasted.  There,  still 
—  from  the  calm  waters,  and  the  abodes  of  common  toil  and 
ordinary  pleasure  —  turns  the  aspiring  mind!  Still  as  we 
gaze  on  that  lofty  and  immemorial  rock  we  recall  the  famine 
and  the  siege;  and  own  that  the  more  daring  crimes  of  men 


170  THE  PILGRIMS   OF   THE  RHINE. 

have  a  strange  privilege  in  hallowing  the  very  spot  which 
they  devastate. 

Below,  in  green  curves  and  mimic  bays  covered  with  her- 
bage, the  gradual  banks  mingled  with  the  water;  and  just 
where  the  bridge  closed,  a  solitary  group  of  trees,  standing 
dark  in  the  thickest  shadow,  gave  that  melancholy  feature  to 
the  scene  which  resembles  the  one  dark  thought  that  often 
forces  itself  into  our  sunniest  hours.  Their  boughs  stirred 
not;  no  voice  of  birds  broke  the  stillness  of  their  gloomy  ver- 
dure :  the  eye  turned  from  them,  as  from  the  sad  moral  that 
belongs  to  existence. 

In  proceeding  to  Trarbach,  Gertrude  was  seized  with  an- 
other of  those  fainting  fits  which  had  so  terrified  Trevylyan 
before;  they  stopped  an  hour  or  two  at  a  little  village,  but 
Gertrude  rallied  with  such  apparent  rapidity,  and  so  strongly 
insisted  on  proceeding,  that  they  reluctantly  continued  their 
way.  This  event  would  have  thrown  a  gloom  over  their  jour- 
ney, if  Gertrude  had  not  exerted  herself  to  dispel  the  impres- 
sion she  had  occasioned;  and  so  light,  so  cheerful,  were  her 
spirits,  that  for  the  time  at  least  she  succeeded. 

They  arrived  at  Trarbach  late  at  noon.  This  now  small 
and  humble  town  is  said  to  have  been  the  Thronus  Bacchi  of 
the  ancients.  From  the  spot  where  the  travellers  halted  to 
take,  as  it  were,  their  impression  of  the  town,  they  saw  be- 
fore them  the  little  hostelry,  a  poor  pretender  to  the  Thronus 
Bacchi,  with  the  rude  sign  of  the  Holy  Mother  over  the  door. 
The  peaked  roof,  the  sunk  window,  the  gray  walls,  checkered 
with  the  rude  beams  of  wood  so  common  to  the  meaner  houses 
on  the  Continent,  bore  something  of  a  melancholy  and  prepos- 
sessing aspect.  Eight  above,  with  its  Gothic  windows  and 
venerable  spire,  rose  the  church  of  the  town;  and,  crowning 
the  summit  of  a  green  and  almost  perpendicular  mountain, 
scowled  the  remains  of  one  of  those  mighty  castles  which 
make  the  never-failing  frown  on  a  German  landscape. 

The  scene  was  one  of  quiet  and  of  gloom:  the  exceeding 
serenity  of  the  day  contrasted,  with  an  almost  unpleasing 
brightness,  the  poverty  of  the  town,  the  thinness  of  the 
population,  and  the  dreary  grandeur  of  the  ruins  that  over- 


THE   PILGRIMS   OF   THE   RHINE.  171 

hung  the  capital  of  the  perished  race  of  the  bold  Counts  of 
Spanheim. 

They  passed  the  night  at  Trarbach,  and  continued  their  jour- 
ney next  day.  At  Treves,  Gertrude  was  for  some  days  seri- 
ously ill;  and  when  they  returned  to  Coblentz,  her  disease 
had  evidently  received  a  rapid  and  alarming  increase. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE   DOUBLE   LIFE. TREVYLYAn's    FATE. — SORROW  THE   PAR- 
ENT   OF    FAME.  —  NIEDERLAHNSTEIN.  —  DREAMS. 

There  are  two  lives  to  each  of  us,  gliding  on  at  the  same 
time,  scarcely  connected  with  each  other, —  the  life  of  our  ac- 
tions, the  life  of  our  minds ;  the  external  and  the  inward  his- 
tory; the  movements  of  the  frame,  the  deep  and  ever-restless 
workings  of  the  heart !  They  who  have  loved  know  that  there 
is  a  diary  of  the  affections,  which  we  might  keep  for  years 
without  having  occasion  even  to  touch  upon  the  exterior  sur- 
face of  life,  our  busy  occupations,  the  mechanical  progress  of 
our  existence ;  yet  by  the  last  are  we  judged,  the  first  is  never 
known.  History  reveals  men's  deeds,  men's  outward  charac- 
ter, but  not  themselves.  There  is  a  secret  self  that  hath  its 
own  life  "rounded  by  a  dream,"  unpenetrated,  unguessed. 
What  passed  within  Trevylyan,  hour  after  hour,  as  he 
watched  over  the  declining  health  of  the  only  being  in  the 
world  whom  his  proud  heart  had  been  ever  destined  to  love? 
His  real  record  of  the  time  was  marked  by  every  cloud  upon 
Gertrude's  brow,  every  smile  of  her  countenance,  every  —  the 
faintest  —  alteration  in  her  disease ;  yet,  to  the  outward  seem- 
ing, all  this  vast  current  of  varying  eventful  emotion  lay  dark 
and  unconjectured.  He  filled  up  with  wonted  regularity  the 
colourings  of  existence,  and  smiled  and  moved  as  other  men. 
For  still,  in  the  heroism  with  which  devotion  conquers  self, 
he  sought  only  to  cheer  and  gladden  the  young  heart  on  which 


172  THE  PILGRIMS   OF   THE  RHINE. 

he  had  embarked  his  all ;  and  he  kept  the  dark  tempest  of  his 
anguish  for  the  solitude  of  night. 

That  was  a  peculiar  doom  which  Fate  had  reserved  for  him; 
and  casting  him,  in  after  years,  on  tlie  great  sea  of  public 
strife,  it  seemed  as  if  she  were  resolved  to  tear  from  his  heart 
all  yearnings  for  the  land.  For  him  there  was  to  be  no  green 
or  sequestered  spot  in  the  valley  of  household  peace.  His 
bark  was  to  know  no  haven,  and  his  soul  not  even  the  desire 
of  rest.  For  action  is  that  Lethe  in  which  alone  we  forget 
our  former  dreams,  and  the  mind  that,  too  stern  not  to  wrestle 
with  its  emotions,  seeks  to  conquer  regret,  must  leave  itself 
no  leisure  to  look  behind.  Who  knows  what  benefits  to  the 
world  may  have  sprung  from  the  sorrows  of  the  benefactor? 
As  the  harvest  that  gladdens  mankind  in  the  suns  of  autumn 
was  called  forth  by  the  rains  of  spring,  so  the  griefs  of  youth 
may  make  the  fame  of  maturity. 

Gertrude,  charmed  by  the  beauties  of  the  river,  desired  to 
continue  the  voyage  to  Mayence.  The  rich  Trevylyan  per- 
suaded the  physician  who  had  attended  her  to  accompany 
them,  and  they  once  more  pursued  their  way  along  the  banks 
of  the  feudal  Ehine.  For  what  the  Tiber  is  to  the  classic,  the 
Khine  is  to  the  chivalric  age.  The  steep  rock  and  the  gray 
dismantled  tower,  the  massive  and  rude  picturesque  of  the 
feudal  days,  constitute  the  great  features  of  the  scene;  and 
you  might  almost  fancy,  as  you  glide  along,  that  you  are  sail- 
ing back  adown  the  river  of  Time,  and  the  monuments  of  the 
pomp  and  power  of  old,  rising,  one  after  one,  upon  its  shores ! 

Vane  and  Du e,  the  physician,  at  the  farther  end  of  the 

vessel,  conversed  upon  stones  and  strata,  in  that  singular 
pedantry  of  science  which  strips  nature  to  a  skeleton,  and 
prowls  among  the  dead  bones  of  the  world,  unconscious  of  its 
living  beauty. 

They  left  Gertrude  and  Trevylyan  to  themselves;  and, 
"bending  o'er  the  vessel's  laving  side,"  they  indulged  in  si- 
lence the  melancholy  with  which  each  was  imbued.  For  Ger- 
trude began  to  waken,  though  doubtingly  and  at  intervals,  to 
a  sense  of  the  short  span  that  was  granted  to  her  life;  and 
over  the  loveliness  around  her  there  floated  that  sad  and  in- 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  173 

eFable  interest  Avliich  springs  from  the  presentiment  of  our 
own  death.  They  passed  the  rich  island  of  Oberwerth,  and 
Hochheim,  famous  for  its  ruby  grape,  and  saw,  from  his 
mountain  bed,  the  Lahn  bear  his  tribute  of  fruits  and  corn 
into  the  treasury  of  the  Rhine,  Proudly  rose  the  tower  of 
Niederlahnstein,  and  deeply  lay  its  shadow  along  the  stream. 
It  was  late  noon ;  the  cattle  had  sought  the  shade  from  the 
slanting  sun,  and,  far  beyond,  the  holy  castle  of  Marksburg 
raised  its  battlements  above  mountains  covered  with  the  vine. 
On  the  water  two  boats  had  been  drawn  alongside  each  other ; 
and  from  one,  now  moving  to  the  land,  the  splash  of  oars 
broke  the  general  stillness  of  the  tide.  Fast  by  an  old  tower 
the  fishermen  were  busied  in  their  craft,  but  the  sound  of 
their  voices  did  not  reach  the  ear.  It  was  life,  but  a  silent 
life,  suited  to  the  tranquillity  of  noon. 

"There  is  something  in  travel,"  said  Gertrude,  "which  con- 
stantly, even  amidst  the  most  retired  spots,  impresses  us  with 
the  exuberance  of  life.  We  come  to  those  quiet  nooks  and 
find  a  race  whose  existence  we  never  dreamed  of.  In  their 
humble  path  they  know  the  same  passions  and  tread  the  same 
career  as  ourselves.  The  mountains  shut  them  out  from  the 
great  world,  but  their  village  is  a  world  in  itself.  And  they 
know  and  heed  no  more  of  the  turbulent  scenes  of  remote  cities 
than  our  own  planet  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  distant  stars. 
What  then  is  death,  but  the  forgetfulness  of  some  few  hearts 
added  to  the  general  unconsciousness  of  our  existence  that 
pervades  the  universe?  The  bubble  breaks  in  the  vast  desert 
of  the  air  without  a  sound." 

"Why  talk  of  death?"  said  Trevylyan,  with  a  writhing 
smile.  "  These  sunny  scenes  should  not  call  forth  such  mel- 
ancholy images." 

"Melancholy,"  repeated  Gertrude,  mechanically.  "Yes, 
death  is  indeed  melancholy  when  we  are  loved !  " 

They  stayed  a  short  time  at  Niederlahnstein,  for  Yane  was 
anxious  to  examine  the  minerals  that  the  Lahn  brings  into 
the  Rhine ;  and  the  sun  was  waning  towards  its  close  as  they 
renewed  their  voyage.  As  they  sailed  slowly  on,  Gertrude 
said,  "How  like  a  dream  is  this  sentiment  of  existence,  when, 


174  THE  PILGRIMS  OF   THE  RHINE. 

without  labour  or  motion,  every  change  of  scene  is  brought 
before  us ;  and  if  I  am  with  you,  dearest,  I  do  not  feel  it  less 
resembling  a  dream,  for  I  have  dreamed  of  you  lately  more 
than  ever;  and  dreams  have  become  a  part  of  my  life  itself." 

"Speaking  of  dreams,"  said  Trevylyan,  as  they  pursued 
that  mysterious  subject,  "  I  once  during  my  former  residence 
in  Germany  fell  in  with  a  singular  enthusiast,  who  had  taught 
himself  what  he  termed  'A  System  of  Dreaming.'  When  he 
first  spoke  to  me  upon  it  I  asked  him  to  explain  what  he 
meant,  which  he  did  somewhat  in  the  following  words." 


CHAPTEE  XXIII. 


THE  LIFE    OF    DREAMS. 


"I  WAS  born,"  said  he,  "with  many  of  the  sentiments  of 
the  poet,  but  without  the  language  to  express  them;  my  feel- 
ings were  constantly  chilled  by  the  intercourse  of  the  actual 
world.  My  family,  mere  Germans,  dull  and  unimpassioned, 
had  nothing  in  common  with  me ;  nor  did  I  out  of  my  family 
find  those  with  whom  I  could  better  sympathize.  I  was  re- 
volted by  friendships, —  for  they  were  susceptible  to  every 
change;  I  was  disappointed  in  love, —  for  the  truth  never  ap- 
proached to  my  ideal.  Nursed  early  in  the  lap  of  Romance, 
enamoured  of  the  wild  and  the  adventurous,  the  common- 
places of  life  were  to  me  inexpressibly  tame  and  joyless. 
And  yet  indolence,  which  belongs  to  the  poetical  character, 
was  more  inviting  than  that  eager  and  uncontemplative  action 
which  can  alone  wring  enterprise  from  life.  Meditation  was 
my  natural  element.  I  loved  to  spend  the  noon  reclined  by 
some  shady  stream,  and  in  a  half  sleep  to  shape  images  from 
the  glancing  sunbeams.  A  dim  and  unreal  order  of  philoso- 
phy, that  belongs  to  our  nation,  was  my  favourite  intellectual 
pursuit;  and  I  sought  amongst  the  Obscure  and  the  Recondite 
the  variety  and  emotion  I  could  not  find  in  the  Familiar. 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  175 

Thus  constantly  watching  the  operations  of  the  inner  mind,  it 
occurred  to  me  at  last  that  sleep  having  its  own  world,  but  as 
yet  a  rude  and  fragmentary  one,  it  might  be  possible  to  shape 
from  its  chaos  all  those  combinations  of  beauty,  of  power,  of 
glory,  and  of  love,  which  were  denied  to  me  in  the  world  in 
which  my  frame  walked  and  had  its  being.  So  soon  as  this 
idea  came  upon  me,  I  nursed  and  cherished  and  mused  over 
it,  till  I  found  that  the  imagination  began  to  effect  the  miracle 
I  desired.  By  brooding  ardently,  intensely,  before  I  retired 
to  rest,  over  any  especial  train  of  thought,  over  any  ideal 
creations;  by  keeping  the  body  utterly  still  and  quiescent 
during  the  whole  day;  by  shutting  out  all  living  adventure, 
the  memory  of  which  might  perplex  and  interfere  with  the 
stream  of  events  that  I  desired  to  pour  forth  into  the  wilds 
of  sleep,  I  discovered  at  last  that  I  could  lead  in  dreams  a  life 
solely  their  own,  and  utterly  distinct  from  the  life  of  day. 
Towers  and  palaces,  all  my  heritage  and  seigneury,  rose  be- 
fore me  from  the  depths  of  night;  I  quaffed  from  jewelled 
cups  the  Falernian  of  imperial  vaults;  music  from  harps  of 
celestial  tone  filled  up  the  crevices  of  air;  and  the  smiles  of 
immortal  beauty  flushed  like  sunlight  over  all.  Thus  the 
adventure  and  the  glory  that  I  could  not  for  my  waking  life 
obtain,  was  obtained  for  me  in  sleep.  I  wandered  with  the 
gryphon  and  the  gnome;  I  sounded  the  horn  at  enchanted 
portals;  I  conquered  in  the  knightly  lists;  I  planted  my 
standard  over  battlements  huge  as  the  painter's  birth  of 
Babylon  itself. 

"But  I  was  afraid  to  call  forth  one  shape  on  whose  loveli- 
ness to  pour  all  the  hidden  passion  of  my  soul.  I  trembled 
lest  my  sleep  should  present  me  some  image  which  it  could 
never  restore,  and,  waking  from  which,  even  the  new  world 
I  had  created  might  be  left  desolate  forever.  I  shuddered 
lest  I  should  adore  a  vision  which  the  first  ray  of  morning 
could  smite  to  the  grave. 

"  In  this  train  of  mind  I  began  to  wonder  whether  it  might 
not  be  possible  to  connect  dreams  together;  to  supply  the  thread 
that  was  wanting;  to  make  one  night  continue  the  history  of 
the  other,  so  as  to  bring  together  the  same  shapes  and  the  same 


176  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

scenes,  aud  thus  lead  a  connected  and  harmonious  life,  not 
only  in  the  one  half  of  existence,  but  in  the  other,  the  richer 
and  more  glorious  half.  No  sooner  did  this  idea  present  it- 
self to  me,  than  I  burned  to  accomplish  it.  I  had  before 
taught  myself  that  Faith  is  the  great  creator;  that  to  believe 
fervently  is  to  make  belief  true.  So  I  would  not  suffer  my 
mind  to  doubt  the  practicability  of  its  scheme.  I  shut  myself 
up  then  entirely  by  day,  refused  books,  and  hated  the  very 
sun,  and  compelled  all  my  thoughts  (and  sleep  is  the  mirror 
of  thought)  to  glide  in  one  direction, —  the  direction  of  my 
dreams, —  so  that  from  night  to  night  the  imagination  might 
keep  up  the  thread  of  action,  and  I  might  thus  lie  down  full 
of  the  past  dream  and  confident  of  the  sequel.  Not  for  one 
day  only,  or  for  one  month,  did  I  pursue  this  system,  but  I 
continued  it  zealously  and  sternly  till  at  length  it  began  to 
succeed.  Who  shall  tell,"  cried  the  enthusiast, —  I  see  him 
now  with  his  deep,  bright,  sunken  eyes,  and  his  wild  hair 
thrown  backward  from  his  brow, —  "the  rapture  I  experi- 
enced, when  first,  faintly  and  half  distinct,  I  perceived  the 
harmony  I  had  invoked  dawn  upon  my  dreams?  At  first  there 
was  only  a  partial  and  desultory  connection  between  them; 
my  eye  recognized  certain  shapes,  my  ear  certain  tones  com- 
mon to  each;  by  degrees  these  augmented  in  number,  and 
were  more  defined  in  outline.  At  length  one  fair  face  broke 
forth  from  among  the  ruder  forms,  and  night  after  night  ap- 
peared mixing  with  them  for  a  moment  and  then  vanishing, 
just  as  the  mariner  watches,  in  a  clouded  sky,  the  moon  shin- 
ing through  the  drifting  rack,  and  quickly  gone.  My  cu- 
riosity was  now  vividly  excited;  the  face,  with  its  lustrous 
eyes  and  seraph  features,  roused  all  the  emotions  that  no  liv- 
ing shape  had  called  forth.  I  became  enamoured  of  a  dream, 
and  as  the  statue  to  the  Cyprian  was  my  creation  to  me ;  so 
from  this  intent  and  unceasing  passion  I  at  length  worked  out 
my  reward.  My  dream  became  more  palpable;  I  spoke  with 
it;  I  knelt  to  it;  my  lips  were  pressed  to  its  own;  we  ex- 
changed the  vows  of  love,  and  morning  only  separated  us  with 
the  certainty  that  at  night  we  should  meet  again.  Thus  then," 
continued  my  visionary,  "  I  commenced  a  history  utterly  sepa- 


THE  riLGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  177 

rate  from  the  history  of  the  workl,  and  it  went  on  alternately 
with  my  harsh  and  chilling  history  of  the  day,  equally  regular 
and  equally  continuous.  And  what,  you  ask,  was  that  his- 
tory? Methought  I  was  a  prince  in  some  Eastern  island  that 
had  no  features  in  common  with  the  colder  north  of  my  native 
home.  By  day  I  looked  upon  the  dull  walls  of  a  German 
town,  and  saw  homely  or  squalid  forms  passing  before  me; 
the  sky  was  dim  and  the  sun  cheerless.  Night  came  on  with 
her  thousand  stars,  and  brought  me  the  dews  of  sleep.  Then 
suddenly  there  was  a  new  world ;  the  richest  fruits  hung  from 
the  trees  in  clusters  of  gold  and  purple.  Palaces  of  the  quaint 
fashion  of  the  sunnier  climes,  with  spiral  minarets  and  glit- 
tering cupolas,  were  mirrored  upon  vast  lakes  sheltered  by 
the  palm-tree  and  banana.  The  sun  seemed  a  different  orb, 
so  mellow  and  gorgeous  were  his  beams;  birds  and  winged 
things  of  all  hues  fluttered  in  the  shining  air;  the  faces  and 
garments  of  men  were  not  of  the  northern  regions  of  the 
world,  and  their  voices  spoke  a  tongue  which,  strange  at  first, 
by  degrees  I  interpreted.  Sometimes  I  made  war  upon  neigh- 
bouring kings ;  sometimes  I  chased  the  spotted  pard  through 
the  vast  gloom  of  immemorial  forests;  my  life  was  at  once  a 
life  of  enterprise  and  pomp.  But  above  all  there  was  the  his- 
tory of  my  love !  I  thought  there  were  a  thousand  difficulties 
in  the  way  of  attaining  its  possession.  Many  were  the  rocks 
I  had  to  scale,  and  the  battles  to  wage,  and  the  fortresses  to 
storm,  in  order  to  win  her  as  my  bride.  But  at  last "  (con- 
tinued the  enthusiast),  "she  is  won,  she  is  my  own!  Time 
in  that  wild  world,  which  I  visit  nightly,  passes  not  so  slowly 
as  in  this,  and  yet  an  hour  may  be  the  same  as  a  year.  This 
continuity  of  existence,  this  successive  series  of  dreams,  so 
different  from  the  broken  incoherence  of  other  men's  sleep, 
at  times  bewilders  me  with  strange  and  suspicious  thoughts. 
What  if  this  glorious  sleep  be  a  real  life,  and  this  dull  waking 
the  true  repose?  Why  not?  What  is  there  more  faithful  in 
the  one  than  in  the  other?  And  there  have  I  garnered  and 
collected  all  of  pleasure  that  I  am  capable  of  feeling.  I  seek 
no  joy  in  this  world;  I  form  no  ties,  I  feast  not,  nor  love,  nor 
make  merry;  I  am  only  impatient  till  the  hour  when  I  may 

12 


178  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

re-enter  my  royal  realms  and  pour  my  renewed  delight  into 
tlie  bosom  of  my  bright  Ideal.  There  then  have  I  found  all 
that  the  world  denied  me ;  there  have  I  realized  the  yearning 
and  the  aspiration  within  me;  there  have  I  coined  the  untold 
poetry  into  the  Felt,  the  Seen !  " 

I  found,  continued  Trevylyan,  that  this  tale  was  corrobo- 
rated by  inquiry  into  the  visionary's  habits.  He  shunned 
society;  avoided  all  unnecessary  movement  or  excitement, 
lie  fared  with  rigid  abstemiousness,  and  only  appeared  to  feel 
pleasure  as  the  day  departed,  and  the  hour  of  return  to  his 
imaginary  kingdom  approached.  He  always  retired  to  rest 
punctually  at  a  certain  hour,  and  would  sleep  so  soundly  that 
a  cannon  iired  under  his  window  would  not  arouse  him.  He 
never,  which  may  seem  singular,  spoke  or  moved  much  in  his- 
sleep,  but  was  peculiarly  calm,  almost  to  the  appearance  of 
lifelessness;  but,  discovering  once  that  he  had  been  watched 
in  sleep,  he  was  wont  afterwards  carefully  to  secure  the  cham- 
ber from  intrusion.  His  victory  over  the  natural  incoherence 
of  sleep  had,  when  I  first  knew  him,  lasted  for  some  years; 
possibly  what  imagination  first  produced  was  afterAvards  con- 
tinued by  habit. 

I  saw  him  again  a  few  months  subsequent  to  this  confes- 
sion, and  he  seemed  to  me  much  changed.  His  health  was 
broken,  and  his  abstraction  had  deepened  into  gloom. 

I  questioned  him  of  the  cause  of  the  alteration,  and  he  an- 
swered me  with  great  reluctance, — 

"She  is  dead,"  said  he;  "my  realms  are  desolate!  A  ser- 
pent stung  her,  and  she  died  in  these  very  arms.  Vainly, 
when  I  started  from  my  sleep  in  horror  and  despair,  vainly 
did  I  say  to  myself, —  This  is  but  a  dream.  I  shall  see  her 
again.  A  vision  cannot  die!  Hath  it  flesh  that  decays;  is  it 
not  a  spirit, —  bodiless,  indissoluble?  With  what  terrible 
anxiety  I  awaited  the  night!  Again  I  slept,  and  the  dream 
lay  again  before  me,  dead  and  withered.  Even  the  ideal  can 
vanish.  I  assisted  in  the  burial;  I  laid  her  in  the  earth;  I 
heaped  the  monumental  mockery  over  her  form.  And  never 
since  hath  she,  or  aught  like  her,  revisited  my  dreams.  I  see 
her  only  when  I  wake;   thus  to  wake  is  indeed  to  dream! 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  179 

But,"  continued  the  visionary  in  a  solemn  voice,  *'I  feel  my- 
self departing  from  this  world,  and  with  a  fearful  joy;  for  I 
think  there  may  be  a  land  beyond  even  the  land  of  sleep 
where  I  shall  see  her  again, —  a  land  in  which  a  vision  itself 
may  be  restored." 

And  in  truth,  concluded  Trevylyan,  the  dreamer  died  shortly 
afterwards,  suddenly,  and  in  his  sleep.  And  never  before, 
perhaps,  had  Fate  so  literally  made  of  a  living  man  (with  his 
passions  and  his  powers,  his  ambition  and  his  love)  the  play- 
thing and  puppet  of  a  dream ! 

"Ah,"  said  Vane,  who  had  heard  the  latter  part  of  Trevyl- 
yan's  story,  "could  the  German  have  bequeathed  to  us  his 
secret,  what  a  refuge  should  we  possess  from  the  ills  of  earth ! 
The  dungeon  and  disease,  poverty,  affliction,  shame,  would 
cease  to  be  the  tyrants  of  our  lot ;  and  to  Sleep  we  should  con- 
fine our  history  and  transfer  our  emotions." 

"Gertrude,"  whispered  the  lover,  "what  his  kingdom  and 
his  bride  were  to  the  Dreamer  art  thou  to  me ! " 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


THE    BROTHERS. 


The  banks  of  the  Rhine  now  shelved  away  into  sweeping 
plains,  and  on  their  right  rose  the  once  imperial  city  of  Bop- 
part.  In  no  journey  of  similar  length  do  you  meet  with  such 
striking  instances  of  the  mutability  and  shifts  of  power.  To 
find,  as  in  the  Memphian  Egypt,  a  city  sunk  into  a  heap  of 
desolate  ruins;  the  hum,  the  roar,  the  mart  of  nations,  hushed 
into  the  silence  of  ancestral  tombs,  is  less  humbling  to  our 
human  vanity  than  to  mark,  as  along  the  Rhine,  the  kingly 
city  dwindled  into  the  humble  town  or  the  dreary  village, — 
decay  without  its  grandeur,  change  without  the  awe  of  its  soli- 
tude! On  the  site  on  which  Drusus  raised  his  Roman  tower, 
and  the  kings  of  the  Franks  their  palaces,  trade  now  dribbles 


180  THE  PILGRIMS  OF   THE   RHINE. 

in  tobacco-pipes,  and  transforms  into  an  excellent  cotton  fac- 
tory the  antique  nunnery  of  Konigsberg!  So  be  it;  it  is  the 
progressive  order  of  things, —  the  world  itself  will  soon  be 
one  excellent  cotton  factory! 

"Look,"  said  Trevylyan,  as  they  sailed  on,  "at  yonder 
mountain,  with  its  two  traditionary  Castles  of  Liebenstein 
and  Sternfels." 

Massive  and  huge  the  ruins  swelled  above  the  green  rock, 
at  the  foot  of  which  lay,  in  happier  security  from  time  and 
change,  the  clustered  cottages  of  the  peasant,  with  a  single 
spire  rising  above  the  quiet  village. 

"  Is  there  not,  Albert,  a  celebrated  legend  attached  to  those 
castles?"  said  Gertrude.  "I  think  I  remember  to  have  heard 
their  names  in  connection  with  your  profession  of  taleteller." 

"Yes,"  said  Trevylyan,  "the  story  relates  to  the  last  lords 
of  those  shattered  towers,  and  —  " 

"You  will  sit  here,  nearer  to  me,  and  begin,"  interrupted 
Gertrude,  in  her  tone  of  childlike  command.     "Come." 

THE  BROTHERS. 

A    TALE.l 

You  must  imagine  then,  dear  Gertrude  (said  Trevylyan),  a 
beautiful  summer  day,  and  by  the  same  faculty  that  none  pos- 
sess so  richly  as  yourself,  for  it  is  you  who  can  kindle  some- 
thing of  that  divine  spark  even  in  me,  you  must  rebuild  those 
shattered  towers  in  the  pomp  of  old;  raise  the  gallery  and  the 
hall ;  man  the  battlements  with  warders,  and  give  the  proud 
banners  of  ancestral  chivalry  to  wave  upon  the  walls.  But 
above,  sloping  half  down  the  rock,  you  must  fancy  the  hang- 
ing gardens  of  Liebenstein,  fragrant  with  flowers,  and  bask- 
ing in  the  noonday  sun. 

On  the  greenest  turf,  underneath  an  oak,  there  sat  three 
persons,  in  the  bloom  of  youth.  Two  of  the  three  were 
brothers;  the  third  was  an  orphan  girl,  whom  the  lord  of  the 
opposite  tower  of  Sternfels  had  bequeathed  to  the  protection 

1  This  tale  is,  in  reality,  founded  on  the  beautiful  tradition  which  belongs 
to  Liebenstein  and  Sternfels. 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF   THE   RHINE.  181 

of  his  brother,  the  chief  of  Liebenstein.  The  castle  itself  and 
the  demesne  that  belonged  to  it  passed  away  from  the  female 
line,  and  became  the  heritage  of  Otho,  the  orphan's  cousin, 
and  the  younger  of  the  two  brothers  now  seated  on  the  turf. 

"And  oh,"  said  the  elder,  whose  name  was  \Yarbeck,  "you 
have  twined  a  chaplet  for  my  brother;  have  you  not,  dearest 
Leoline,  a  simple  flower  for  me?  " 

The  beautiful  orphan  (for  beautiful  she  was,  Gertrude,  as 
the  heroine  of  the  tale  you  bid  me  tell  ought  to  be, —  should 
she  not  have  to  the  dreams  of  my  fancy  your  lustrous  hair, 
and  your  sweet  smile,  and  your  eyes  of  blue,  that  are  never, 
never  silent?  Ah,  pardon  me,  that  in  a  former  tale,  I  denied 
the  heroine  the  beauty  of  your  face,  and  remember  that  to 
atone  for  it,  I  endowed  her  with  the  beauty  of  your  mind)  — 
the  beautiful  orphan  blushed  to  her  temples,  and  culling  from 
the  flowers  in  her  lap  the  freshest  of  the  roses,  began  weaving 
them  into  a  wreath  for  Warbeck, 

"It  would  be  better,"  said  the  gay  Otho,  "to  make  ray  sober 
brother  a  chaplet  of  the  rue  and  cypress ;  the  rose  is  much  too 
bright  a  flower  for  so  serious  a  knight." 

Leoline  held  up  her  hand  reprovingly. 

"Let  him  laugh,  dearest  cousin,"  said  Warbeck,  gazing 
passionately  on  her  changing  cheek ;  "  and  thou,  Leoline,  be- 
lieve that  the  silent  stream  runs  the  deepest." 

At  this  moment,  they  heard  the  voice  of  the  old  chief,  their 
father,  calling  aloud  for  Leoline;  for  ever  when  he  returned 
from  the  chase  he  wanted  her  gentle  presence;  and  the  hall 
was  solitary  to  him  if  the  light  sound  of  her  step  and  the 
music  of  her  voice  were  not  heard  in  welcome. 

Leoline  hastened  to  her  guardian,  and  the  brothers  were 
left  alone. 

Nothing  could  b3  more  dissimilar  than  the  features  and  the 
respective  characters  of  Otho  and  Warbeck.  Otho's  counte- 
nance was  flushed  with  the  brown  hues  of  health;  his  eyes 
were  of  the  brightest  hazel :  his  dark  hair  wreathed  in  short 
curls  round  his  open  and  fearless  brow ;  the  jest  ever  echoed 
on  his  lips,  and  his  step  was  bounding  as  the  foot  of  the 
hunter  of  the  Alps.    Bold  and  light  was  his  spirit ;  if  at  times 


182  THE   PILGRIMS   OF   THE   RHINE. 

he  betrayed  the  haughty  insolence  of  youth,  he  felt  gener- 
ously, and  though  not  ever  ready  to  confess  sorrow  for  a  fault, 
he  was  at  least  ready  to  brave  peril  for  a  friend. 

But  Warbeck's  frame,  though  of  equal  strength,  was  more 
slender  in  its  proportions  than  that  of  his  brother;  the  fair 
long  hair  that  characterized  his  northern  race  hung  on  either 
side  of  a  countenance  calm  and  pale,  and  deeply  impressed 
with  thought,  even  to  sadness.  His  features,  more  majestic 
and  regular  than  Otho's,  rarely  varied  in  their  expression. 
More  resolute  even  than  Otho,  he  was  less  impetuous;  more 
impassioned,  he  was  also  less  capricious. 

The  brothers  remained  silent  after  Leoline  had  left  them. 
Otho  carelessly  braced  on  his  sword,  that  he  had  laid  aside  on 
the  grass;  but  Warbeck  gathered  up  the  flowers  that  had  been 
touched  by  the  soft  hand  of  Leoline,  and  placed  them  in  his 
bosom. 

The  action  disturbed  Otho;  he  bit  his  lip,  and  changed 
colour;  at  length  he  said,  with  a  forced  laugh, — 

"  It  must  be  confessed,  brother,  that  you  carry  3'our  affec- 
tion for  our  fair  cousin  to  a  degree  that  even  relationship 
seems  scarcely  to  warrant." 

"It  is  true,"  said  Warbeck,  calmly;  "I  love  her  with  a  love 
surpassing  that  of  blood." 

"  How !  "  said  Otho,  fiercely :  "  do  you  dare  to  think  of 
Leoline  as  a  bride?  " 

"Dare!"  repeated  Warbeck,  turning  yet  paler  than  his 
wonted  hue. 

"  Yes,  I  have  said  the  word !  Know,  "Warbeck,  that  I,  too, 
love  Leoline ;  I,  too,  claim  her  as  my  bride ;  and  never,  while 
I  can  wield  a  sword,  never,  while  I  wear  the  spurs  of  knight- 
hood, will  I  render  my  claim  to  a  living  rival, —  even,"  he 
added,  sinking  his  voice,  "though  that  rival  be  my  brother!  " 

Warbeck  answered  not;  his  very  soul  seemed  stunned;  he 
gazed  long  and  wistfully  on  his  brother,  and  then,  turning  his 
face  away,  ascended  the  rock  without  uttering  a  single  word. 

This  silence  startled  Otho.  Accustomed  to  vent  every  emo- 
tion of  his  own,  he  could  not  comprehend  the  forbearance  of 
his  brother;  he  knew  his  high  and  brave  nature  too  well  to 


THE   PILGRIMS   OF   THE   RHINE.  183 

imagine  that  it  arose  from  fear.  Might  it  not  be  contempt, 
or  might  he  not,  at  this  moment,  intend  to  seek  their  father; 
and,  the  first  to  proclaim  his  love  for  the  orphan,  advance, 
also,  the  privilege  of  the  elder  born?  As  these  suspicions 
flashed  across  him,  the  haughty  Otho  strode  to  his  brother's 
side,  and  laying  his  hand  on  his  arm,  said, — 

"Whither  goest  thou;  and  dost  thou  consent  to  surrender 
Leoline?  " 

"Does  she  love  thee,  Otho?"  answered  Warbeck,  breaking 
silence  at  last;  and  his  voice  spoke  so  deep  an  anguish,  that 
it  arrested  the  passions  of  Otho  even  at  their  height. 

"It  is  thou  who  art  now  silent,"  continued  Warbeck; 
"speak.     Doth  she  love  thee,  and  has  her  lip  confessed  it?  " 

"I  have  believed  that  she  loved  me,"  faltered  Otho;  "but 
she  is  of  maiden  bearing,  and  her  lip,  at  least,  has  never 
told  it." 

"Enough,"  said  Warbeck;  "release  your  hold." 

"Stay,"  said  Otho,  his  suspicions  returning;  "stay, —  yet 
one  word;  dost  thou  seek  my  father?  He  ever  honoured  thee 
more  than  me :  wilt  thou  own  to  him  thy  love,  and  insist  on 
thy  right  of  birth?  By  my  soul  and  my  hope  of  heaven,  do 
it,  and  one  of  us  two  must  fall !  " 

"Poor  boy!  "  answered  Warbeck,  bitterly;  "how  little  thou 
canst  read  the  heart  of  one  who  loves  truly!  Thinkest  thou  I 
would  wed  her  if  she  loved  thee?  Thinkest  thou  I  could, 
even  to  be  blessed  myself,  give  her  one  moment's  pain?  Out 
on  the  thought !  away !  " 

"Then  wilt  not  thou  seek  our  father?"  said  Otho,  abashed. 

"Our  father!  —  has  our  father  the  keeping  of  Leoline's  af- 
fection?" answered  Warbeck;  and  shaking  off  his  brother's 
grasp,  he  sought  the  way  to  the  castle. 

As  he  entered  the  hall,  he  heard  the  voice  of  Leoline;  she 
was  singing  to  the  old  chief  one  of  the  simple  ballads  of  the 
time  that  the  warrior  and  the  hunter  loved  to  hear.  He 
paused  lest  he  should  break  the  spell  (a  spell  stronger  than  a 
sorcerer's  to  him),  and  gazing  upon  Leoline's  beautiful  form, 
his  heart  sank  within  him.  His  brother  and  himself  had 
each  that  day,  as  they  sat  in  the  gardens,  given  her  a  flower; 


184  THE  PILGRIMS   OF   THE  RHINE. 

his  flower  was  tlie  fresher  and  the  rarer ;  his  he  saw  not,  but 
she  wore  his  brother's  in  her  bosom ! 

The  chief,  lulled  by  the  music  and  wearied  with  the  toils 
of  the  chase,  sank  into  sleep  as  the  song  ended,  and  Warbeck, 
coming  forward,  motioned  to  Leoline  to  follow  him.  He 
passed  into  a  retired  and  solitary  walk,  and  when  they  were 
a  little  distance  from  the  castle,  Warbeck  turned  round,  and 
taking  Leoline's  hand  gently,  said, — 

*'Let  us  rest  here  for  one  moment,  dearest  cousin;  I  have 
much  on  my  heart  to  say  to  thee." 

"And  what  is  there,"  answered  Leoline,  as  they  sat  on  a 
mossy  bank,  with  the  broad  Rhine  glancing  below,  "  what  is 
there  that  my  kind  Warbeck  would  ask  of  me?  Ah,  would  it 
might  be  some  favour,  something  in  poor  Leoline's  power  to 
grant;  for  ever  from  my  birth  you  have  been  to  me  most  ten- 
der, most  kind.  You,  I  have  often  heard  them  say,  taught 
my  first  steps  to  walk ;  you  formed  my  infant  lips  into  lan- 
guage, and,  in  after  years,  when  my  wild  cousin  was  far  away 
in  the  forests  at  the  chase,  you  would  brave  his  gay  jest  and 
remain  at  home,  lest  Leoline  should  be  weary  in  the  solitude. 
Ah,  would  I  could  repay  you !  " 

Warbeck  turned  away  his  cheek;  his  heart  was  very  full, 
and  it  was  some  moments  before  he  summoned  courage  to 
reply. 

"My  fair  cousin,"  said  he,  "those  were  happy  days;  but 
they  were  the  days  of  childhood.  New  cares  and  new  thoughts 
have  now  come  on  us ;  but  I  am  still  thy  friend,  Leoline,  and 
still  thou  wilt  confide  in  me  thy  young  sorrows  and  thy  young 
hopes,  as  thou  ever  didst.     Wilt  thou  not,  Leoline?  " 

"Canst  thou  ask  me?"  said  Leoline;  and  Warbeck,  gazing 
on  her  face,  saw  that  though  her  eyes  were  full  of  tears,  they 
yet  looked  steadily  upon  his ;  and  he  knew  that  she  loved  him 
only  as  a  sister. 

He  sighed,  and  paused  again  ere  he  resumed.  "Enough," 
said  he;  "now  to  my  task.  Once  on  a  time,  dear  cousin, 
there  lived  among  these  mountains  a  certain  chief  who  had 
two  sons,  and  an  orphan  like  thyself  dwelt  also  in  his  halls. 
And  the  elder  son  —  but  no  matter,  let  us  not  waste  words  on 


THE  riLGRIMS  OF  THE  TtinXE.  185 

jiim !  —  the  younger  son,  then,  loved  the  orphan  dearly,  — 
more  dearly  than  cousins  love;  and  fearful  of  refusal,  he 
prayed  the  elder  one  to  urge  his  suit  to  the  orphan.  Leoline, 
my  tale  is  done.  Canst  thou  not  love  Otho  as  he  loves 
thee?" 

And  now  lifting  his  eyes  to  Leoline,  he  saw  that  she  trem- 
bled violently,  and  her  cheek  was  covered  with  blushes. 

"Say,"  continued  he,  mastering  himself,  "  is  not  that  flower 
—  his  present  —  a  token  that  he  is  chiefly  in  thy  thoughts?" 

"Ah,  Warbeck!  do  not  deem  me  ungrateful  that  I  wear  not 
yours  also ;  but  —  " 

"  Hush  I  "  said  Warbeck,  hastily ;  "  I  am  but  as  thy  brother ; 
is  not  Otho  more?  He  is  young,  brave,  and  beautiful.  God 
grant  that  he  may  deserve  thee,  if  thou  givest  him  so  rich  a 
gift  as  thy  affections !  " 

"I  saw  less  of  Otho  in  my  childhood,"  said  Leoline,  eva- 
sively; "therefore,  his  kindness  of  late  years  seemed  stranger 
to  me  than  thine." 

"And  thou  wilt  not  then  reject  him?  Thou  wilt  be  his 
bride?  " 

"And  thy  sister,"  answered  Leoline, 

"Bless  thee,  mine  own  dear  cousin!  one  brother's  kiss  then, 
and  farewell!     Otho  shall  thank  thee  for  himself." 

He  kissed  her  forehead  calmly,  and,  turning  away,  plunged 
into  the  thicket;  then,  nor  till  then,  he  gave  vent  to  such  emo- 
tions as,  had  Leoline  seen  them,  Otho's  suit  had  been  lost  for- 
ever; for  passionately,  deeply  as  in  her  fond  and  innocent 
heart  she  loved  Otho,  the  happiness  of  Warbeck  was  not  less 
dear  to  her. 

When  the  young  knight  had  recovered  his  self-possession 
he  went  in  search  of  Otho.  He  found  him  alone  in  the  wood, 
leaning  with  folded  arms  against  a  tree,  and  gazing  moodily 
on  the  ground.  Warbeck's  noble  heart  was  touched  at  his 
brother's  dejection. 

"Cheer  thee,  Otho,"  said  he;  "I  bring  thee  no  bad  tidings; 
I  have  seen  Leoline,  I  have  conversed  with  her  —  nay,  start 
not, —  she  loves  thee!  she  is  thine!" 

"  Generous,  generous  Warbeck !  "  exclaimed  Otho ;  and  he 


186  THE   PILGRIMS  OF   THE   RHINE. 

threw  himself  on  his  brother's  neck.  "Xo,  no,"  said  he,  "this 
must  not  be;  thou  hast  the  elder  claim, —  I  resign  her  to  thee. 
Forgive  me  my  waywardness,  brother,  forgive  me !  " 

"Think  of  the  past  no  more,"  said  Warbeck;  "the  love  of 
Leoline  is  an  excuse  for  greater  offences  than  thine.  And 
now,  be  kind  to  her;  her  nature  is  soft  and  keen.  /  know  her 
well ;  for  /  have  studied  her  faintest  wish.  Thou  art  hasty 
and  quick  of  ire;  but  remember  that  a  word  wounds  where 
love  is  deep.  For  my  sake,  as  for  hers,  think  more  of  her 
happiness  than  thine  own;  now  seek  her, —  she  waits  to  hear 
from  thy  lips  the  tale  that  sounded  cold  upon  mine." 

With  that  he  left  his  brother,  and,  once  more  re-entering 
the  castle,  he  went  into  the  hall  of  his  ancestors.  His  father 
still  slept;  he  put  his  hand  on  his  gray  hair,  and  blessed  him; 
then  stealing  up  to  his  chamber,  he  braced  on  his  helm  and 
armour,  and  thrice  kissing  the  hilt  of  his  sword,  said,  with  a 
flushed  cheek,  — 

"  Henceforth  be  thou  my  bride !  "  Then  passing  from  the 
castle,  he  sped  by  the  most  solitary  paths  down  the  rock, 
gained  the  Ehine,  and  hailing  one  of  the  numerous  fishermen 
of  the  river,  won  the  opposite  shore ;  and  alone,  but  not  sad, 
for  his  high  heart  supported  him,  and  Leoline  at  least  was 
happy,  he  hastened  to  Frankfort. 

The  town  was  all  gayety  and  life,  arms  clanged  at  every 
corner,  the  sounds  of  martial  music,  the  wave  of  banners,  the 
glittering  of  plumed  casques,  the  neighing  of  war-steeds,  all 
united  to  stir  the  blood  and  inflame  the  sense.  Saint  Bertrand 
had  lifted  the  sacred  cross  along  the  shores  of  the  Rhine,  and 
the  streets  of  Frankfort  witnessed  with  what  success! 

On  that  same  day  Warbeck  assumed  the  sacred  badge,  and 
was  enlisted  among  the  knights  of  the  Emperor  Conrad. 

We  must  suppose  some  time  to  have  elapsed,  and  Otho  and 
Leoline  were  not  yet  wedded;  for,  in  the  first  fervour  of  his 
gratitude  to  his  brother,  Otho  had  proclaimed  to  his  father 
and  to  Leoline  the  conquest  Warbeck  had  obtained  over  him- 
self; and  Leoline,  touched  to  the  heart,  would  not  consent 
that  the  wedding  should  take  place  immediately.  "  Let  him, 
at  least,"  said  she,  "not  be  insulted  by  a  premature  festivity; 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE   RHINE.  187 

and  give  him  time,  amongst  the  lofty  beauties  he  will  gaze 
upon  in  a  far  country,  to  forget,  Otho,  that  he  once  loved 
her  who  is  the  beloved  of  thee," 

The  old  chief  applauded  this  delicacy;  and  even  Otho,  in 
the  first  flush  of  his  feelings  towards  his  brother,  did  not  ven- 
ture to  oppose  it.  They  settled,  then,  that  the  marriage 
should  take  place  at  the  end  of  a  year. 

Months  rolled  away,  and  an  absent  and  moody  gloom  settled 
upon  Otho's  brow.  In  his  excursions  with  his  gay  companions 
among  the  neighbouring  towns,  he  heard  of  nothing  but  the 
glory  of  the  Crusaders,  of  the  homage  paid  to  the  heroes  of  the 
Cross  at  the  courts  they  visited,  of  the  adventures  of  their 
life,  and  the  exciting  spirit  that  animated  their  war.  In  fact, 
neither  minstrel  nor  priest  suffered  the  theme  to  grow  cold; 
and  the  fame  of  those  who  had  gone  forth  to  the  holy  strife 
gave  at  once  emulation  and  discontent  to  the  youths  who  re- 
mained behind. 

"And  my  brother  enjoys  this  ardent  and  glorious  life,"  said 
the  impatient  Otho;  "while  I,  whose  arm  is  as  strong,  and 
whose  heart  is  as  bold,  languish  here  listening  to  the  dull 
tales  of  a  hoary  sire  and  the  silly  songs  of  an  orphan  girl." 
His  heart  smote  him  at  the  last  sentence,  but  he  had  already 
begun  to  weary  of  the  gentle  love  of  Leoline.  Perhaps  when 
he  had  no  longer  to  gain  a  triumph  over  a  rival  the  excite- 
ment palled;  or  perhaps  his  proud  spirit  secretly  chafed  at 
being  conquered  by  his  brother  in  generosity,  even  when  out- 
shining him  in  the  success  of  love. 

But  poor  Leoline,  once  taught  that  she  was  to  consider  Otho 
her  betrothed,  surrendered  her  heart  entirely  to  his  control. 
His  wild  spirit,  his  dark  beauty,  his  daring  valour,  won 
while  they  awed  her;  and  in  the  titfuluess  of  his  nature  were 
those  perpetual  springs  of  hope  and  fear  that  are  the  foun- 
tains of  ever-agitated  love.  She  saw  with  increasing  grief 
the  change  that  was  growing  over  Otho's  mind;  nor  did 
she  divine  the  cause.  "Surely  I  have  not  offended  him?" 
thought  she. 

Among  the  companions  of  Otho  was  one  who  possessed  a 
singular  sway  over  him.     He  was  a  knight  of  that  mysterious 


188  THE  PILGRIMS   OF   THE   RHINE. 

Order  of  the  Temple,  which  exercised  at  one  time  so  great  a 
command  over  the  minds  of  men. 

A  severe  and  dangerous  wound  in  a  brawl  with  an  English 
knight  had  confined  the  Templar  at  Frankfort,  and  prevented 
his  joining  the  Crusade.  During  his  slow  recovery  he  had 
formed  an  intimacy  with  Otho,  and,  taking  up  his  residence 
at  the  castle  of  Liebenstein,  had  been  struck  with  the  beauty 
of  Leoline.  Prevented  by  his  oath  from  marriage,  he  allowed 
himself  a  double  license  in  love,  and  doubted  not,  could  he 
disengage  the  young  knight  from  his  betrothed,  that  she  would 
add  a  new  conquest  to  the  many  he  had  already  achieved. 
Artfully  therefore  he  painted  to  Otho  the  various  attractions 
of  the  Holy  Cause;  and,  above  all,  he  failed  not  to  describe, 
with  glowing  colours,  the  beauties  who,  in  the  gorgeous  East, 
distinguished  with  a  prodigal  favour  the  warriors  of  the  Cross. 
Dowries,  unknown  in  the  more  sterile  mountains  of  the  Rhine, 
accompanied  the  hand  of  these  beauteous  maidens ;  and  even 
a  prince's  daughter  was  not  deemed,  he  said,  too  lofty  a  mar- 
riage for  the  heroes  who  might  win  kingdoms  for  themselves. 

"To  me,"  said  the  Templar,  "such  hopes  are  eternally  de- 
nied. But  you,  were  you  not  already  betrothed,  what  for- 
tunes might  await  you!" 

By  such  discourses  the  ambition  of  Otho  was  perpetually 
aroused;  they  served  to  deepen  his  discontent  at  his  present 
obscurity,  and  to  convert  to  distaste  the  only  solace  it  afforded 
in  the  innocence  and  affection  of  Leoline. 

One  night,  a  minstrel  sought  shelter  from  the  storm  in  the 
halls  of  Liebenstein.  His  visit  was  welcomed  by  the  chief, 
and  he  repaid  the  hospitality  he  had  received  by  the  exercise 
of  his  art.  He  sang  of  the  chase,  and  the  gaunt  hound  started 
from  the  hearth.  He  sang  of  love,  and  Otho,  forgetting  his 
restless  dreams,  approached  to  Leoline,  and  laid  himself  at 
her  feet.  Louder  then  and  louder  rose  the  strain.  The  min- 
strel sang  of  war;  he  painted  the  feats  of  the  Crusaders;  he 
plunged  into  the  thickest  of  the  battle;  the  steed  neighed; 
the  trump  sovinded;  and  you  might  have  heard  the  ringing  of 
the  steel.  But  when  he  came  to  signalize  the  names  of  the 
boldest  knights,  high  among  the  loftiest  sounded  the  name  of 


THE   PILGRIMS   OF   THE   RHINE.  189 

Sir  Warbeck  of  Liebenstein.  Thrice  had  he  saved  the  impe- 
rial banner;  two  chargers  slain  beneath  him,  he  had  covered 
their  bodies  with  the  fiercest  of  the  foe. 

Gentle  in  the  tent  and  terrible  in  the  fray,  the  minstrel 
should  forget  his  craft  ere  the  Rhine  should  forget  its  hero. 
The  chief  started  from  his  seat.  Leoline  clasped  the  min- 
strel's hand. 

"Speak, — you  have  seen  him,  he  lives,  he  is  honoured?" 

"  I  myself  am  but  just  from  Palestine,  brave  chief  and  noble 
maiden.  I  saw  the  gallant  knight  of  Liebenstein  at  the  right 
hand  of  the  imperial  Conrad.  And  he,  ladye,  was  the  only 
knight  whom  admiration  shone  upon  without  envy,  its  shadow. 
Who  then,"  continued  the  minstrel,  once  more  striking  his 
harp,  "who  then  would  remain  inglorious  in  the  hall?  Shall 
not  the  banners  of  his  sires  reproach  him  as  they  wave;  and 
shall  not  every  voice  from  Palestine  strike  shame  into  his 
soul?  " 

"  Eight !  "  cried  Otho,  suddenly,  and  flinging  himself  at  the 
feet  of  his  father.  "  Thou  hearest  what  my  brother  has  done, 
and  thine  aged  eyes  weep  tears  of  joy.  Shall  /  only  dishonour 
thine  old  age  with  a  rusted  sword?  No!  grant  me,  like  my 
brother,  to  go  forth  with  the  heroes  of  the  Cross !  " 

" ISToble  youth, "  cried  the  harper,  "therein  speaks  the  soul 
of  Sir  Warbeck;  hear  him,  sir  knight, —  hear  the  noble 
youth." 

"Heaven  cries  aloud  in  his  voice,"  said  the  Templar, 
solemnly. 

"My  son,  I  cannot  chide  thine  ardour,"  said  the  old  chief, 
raising  him  with  trembling  hands;  "but  Leoline,  thy 
betrothed?" 

Pale  as  a  statue,  with  ears  that  doubted  their  sense  as  they 
drank  in  the  cruel  words  of  her  lover,  stood  the  orphan.  She 
did  not  speak,  she  scarcely  breathed;  she  sank  into  her  seat, 
and  gazed  upon  the  ground,  till,  at  the  speech  of  the  chief 
both  maiden  pride  and  maiden  tenderness  restored  her  con- 
sciousness, and  she  said, — 

"/,  uncle!  Shall  /bid  Otho  stay  when  his  wishes  bid  him 
depart?  " 


190  THE   PILGRIMS   OF   THE  RHINE. 

"He  will  return  to  thee,  noble  ladye,  covered  "with  glory," 
said  the  harper :  but  Otho  said  no  more.  The  touching  voice 
of  Leoline  went  to  his  soul;  he  resumed  his  seat  in  silence;  and 
Leoline,  going  up  to  him,  whispered  gently,  "Act  as  though  I 
were  not;  "  and  left  the  hall  to  commune  with  her  heart  and 
to  weep  alone. 

"I  can  wed  her  before  I  go,"  said  Otho,  suddenly,  as  he  sat 
that  night  in  the  Templar's  chamber. 

"  Why,  that  is  true !  and  leave  thy  bride  in  the  first  week, 
—  a  hard  trial !  " 

"Better  than  incur  the  chance  of  never  calling  her  mine. 
Dear,  kind,  beloved  Leoline!" 

"Assuredly,  she  deserves  all  from  thee;  and,  indeed,  it  is 
no  small  sacrifice,  at  thy  years  and  with  thy  mien,  to  renounce 
forever  all  interest  among  the  noble  maidens  thou  wilt  visit. 
Ah,  from  the  galleries  of  Constantinople  what  eyes  will  look 
down  on  thee,  and  what  ears,  learning  that  thou  art  Otho  the 
bridegroom,  will  turn  away,  caring  for  thee  no  more!  A 
bridegroom  without  a  bride!  Nay,  man,  much  as  the  Cross 
wants  warriors,  I  am  enough  thy  friend  to  tell  thee,  if  thou 
weddest,  to  stay  peaceably  at  home,  and  forget  in  the  chase 
the  labours  of  war,  from  which  thou  wouldst  strip  the  ambi- 
tion of  love." 

"I  would  I  knew  what  were  best,"  said  Otho,  irresolutely. 
"My  brother  —  ha,  shall  he  forever  excel  me?  But  Leoline, 
how  will  she  grieve, —  she  who  left  him  for  me!" 

"Was  that  thy  fault?"  said  the  Templar,  gayly.  "It 
may  many  times  chance  to  thee  again  to  be  preferred  to 
another.  Troth,  it  is  a  sin  under  which  the  conscience  may 
walk  lightly  enough.  But  sleep  on  it,  Otho;  my  eyes  grow- 
heavy." 

The  next  day  Otho  sought  Leoline,  and  proposed  to  her  that 
their  wedding  should  precede  his  parting;  but  so  embarrassed 
was  he,  so  divided  between  two  wishes,  that  Leoline,  offended, 
hurt,  stung  by  his  coldness,  refused  the  proposal  at  once. 
She  left  him  lest  he  should  see  her  weep,  and  then  — then  she 
repented  even  of  her  just  pride ! 

But  Otho,  striving  to  appease  his  conscience  with  the  belief 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF   THE  RHINE.  191 

that  hers  now  was  the  sole  fault,  busied  himself  in  prepara- 
tions for  his  departure.  Anxious  to  outshine  his  brother,  he 
departed  not  as  Warbeck,  alone  and  unattended,  but  levying 
all  the  horse,  men,  and  money  that  his  domain  of  Sternfels  — 
which  he  had  not  yet  tenanted  —  would  aiford,  he  repaired  to 
Frankfort  at  the  head  of  a  glittering  troop. 

The  Templar,  aifecting  a  relapse,  tarried  behind,  and  prom- 
ised to  join  him  at  that  Constantinople  of  which  he  had  so 
loudly  boasted.  Meanwhile  he  devoted  his  whole  powers  of 
pleasing  to  console  the  unhappy  orphan.  The  force  of  her 
simple  love  was,  however,  stronger  than  all  his  arts.  In  vain 
he  insinuated  doubts  of  Otho, —  she  refused  to  hear  them;  in 
vain  he  poured  with  the  softest  accents  into  her  ear  the  witch- 
ery of  flattery  and  song, —  she  turned  heedlessly  away;  and 
only  pained  by  the  courtesies  that  had  so  little  resemblance  to 
Otho,  she  shut  herself  up  in  her  chamber,  and  pined  in  soli- 
tude for  her  forsaker. 

The  Templar  now  resolved  to  attempt  darker  arts  to  obtain 
power  over  her,  when,  fortunately,  he  was  summoned  suddenly 
away  by  a  mission  from  the  Grand  Master  of  so  high  import, 
that  it  could  not  be  resisted  by  a  passion  stronger  in  his  breast 
than  love,  —  the  passion  of  ambition.  He  left  the  castle  to  its 
solitude;  and  Otho  peopling  it  no  more  with  his  gay  compan- 
ions, no  solitude  could  be  more  unfrequently  disturbed. 

Meanwhile,  though,  ever  and  anon,  the  fame  of  Warbeck 
reached  their  ears,  it  came  unaccompanied  with  that  of  Otho, 
—  of  him  they  had  no  tidings;  and  thus  the  love  of  the  tender 
orphan  was  kept  alive  by  the  perpetual  restlessness  of  fear. 
At  length  the  old  chief  died,  and  Leoline  was  left  utterly 
alone. 

One  evening  as  she  sat  with  her  maidens  in  the  hall,  the 
ringing  of  a  steed's  hoofs  was  heard  in  the  outer  court;  a  horn 
sounded,  the  heavy  gates  were  unbarred,  and  a  knight  of  a 
stately  mien  and  covered  with  the  mantle  of  the  Cross  entered 
the  hall.  He  stopped  for  one  moment  at  the  entrance,  as  if 
overpowered  by  his  emotion;  in  the  next  he  had  clasped  Leo- 
line  to  his  breast. 

"Dost  thou  not  recognize  thy  cousin  Warbeck?  "    He  doffed 


192  THE   PILGRIMS   OF   THE   RHINE. 

his  casque,  and  she  saw  that  majestic  brow  which,  unlike 
Otho's,  had  never  changed  or  been  clouded  in  its  aspect  to 
her. 

" The  war  is  suspended  for  the  present,"  said  he.  " I  learned 
my  father's  death,  and  I  have  returned  home  to  hang  up  my 
banner  in  the  hall  and  spend  my  days  in  peace." 

Time  and  the  life  of  camps  had  worked  their  change  upon 
Warbeck's  face;  the  fair  hair,  deepened  in  its  shade,  was  worn 
from  the  temples,  and  disclosed  one  scar  that  rather  aided  the 
beauty  of  a  countenance  that  had  always  something  high  and 
martial  in  its  character;  but  the  calm  it  had  once  worn  had 
settled  down  into  sadness;  he  conversed  more  rarely  than  be- 
fore, and  though  he  smiled  not  less  often,  nor  less  kindly,  the 
smile  had  more  of  thought,  and  the  kindness  had  forgot  its 
passion.  He  had  apparently  conquered  a  love  that  was  so 
early  crossed,  but  not  that  fidelity  of  remembrance  which 
made  Leoline  dearer  to  him  than  all  others,  and  forbade  him 
to  replace  the  images  he  had  graven  upon  his  soul. 

The  orphan's  lips  trembled  with  the  name  of  Otho,  but  a 
certain  recollection  stifled  even  her  anxiety.  Warbeck  has- 
tened to  forestall  her  questions.  Otho  was  well,  he  said,  and 
sojourning  at  Constantinople;  he  had  lingered  there  so  long 
that  the  crusade  had  terminated  without  his  aid:  doubtless 
now  he  would  speedily  return, —  a  month,  a  week,  nay,  a  day, 
might  restore  him  to  her  side. 

Leoline  was  inexpressibly  consoled,  yet  something  remained 
untold.  Why,  so  eager  for  the  strife  of  the  sacred  tomb,  had 
he  thus  tarried  at  Constantinople?  She  wondered,  she  wearied 
conjecture,  but  she  did  not  dare  to  search  further. 

The  generous  Warbeck  concealed  from  her  that  Otho  led  a 
life  of  the  most  reckless  and  indolent  dissipation, —  wasting 
his  wealth  in  the  pleasures  of  the  Greek  court,  and  only  occu- 
pying his  ambition  with  the  wild  schemes  of  founding  a  prin- 
cipality in  those  foreign  climes,  which  the  enterprises  of  the 
Norman  adventurers  had  rendered  so  alluring  to  the  knightly 
bandits  of  the  age. 

The  cousins  resumed  their  old  friendship,  and  Warbeck  be- 
lieved that  it  was  friendship  alone. 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF   THE  RHINE.  193 

They  walked  again  among  the  gardens  in  which  their  child- 
hood had  strayed;  they  sat  again  on  the  green  turf  whereon 
they  had  woven  flowers;  they  looked  down  on  the  eternal 
mirror  of  the  Rhine, —  ah!  could  it  have  reflected  the  same 
unawakened  freshness  of  their  life's  early  spring! 

The  grave  and  contemplative  mind  of  Warbeck  had  not  been 
so  contented  with  the  honours  of  war  but  that  it  had  sought 
also  those  calmer  sources  of  emotion  which  were  yet  found 
among  the  sages  of  the  East.  He  had  drunk  at  the  fountain 
of  the  wisdom  of  those  distant  climes,  and  had  acquired  the 
habits  of  meditation  which  were  indulged  by  those  wiser 
tribes  from  which  the  Crusaders  brought  back  to  the  North 
the  knowledge  that  was  destined  to  enlighten  their  posterity. 
Warbeck,  therefore,  had  little  in  common  with  the  ruder 
chiefs  around;  he  did  not  summon  them  to  his  board,  nor  at- 
tend attheir  noisy  wassails.  Often  late  at  night,  in  yon  shat- 
tered tower,  his  lonely  lamp  shone  still  over  the  mighty 
stream,  and  his  only  relief  to  loneliness  was  in  the  presence 
and  the  song  of  his  soft  cousin. 

Mouths  rolled  on,  when  suddenly  a  vague  and  fearful  ru- 
mour reached  the  castle  of  Liebenstein.  Otho  was  returning 
home  to  the  neighbouring  tower  of  Sternfels ;  but  not  alone. 
He  brought  back  with  him  a  Greek  bride  of  surprising  beauty, 
and  dowered  with  almost  regal  wealth.  Leoline  was  the  first 
to  discredit  the  rumour;  Leoline  was  soon  the  only  one  who 
disbelieved. 

Bright  in  the  summer  noon  flashed  the  array  of  horsemen ; 
far  up  the  steep  ascent  wound  the  gorgeous  cavalcade;  the 
lonely  towers  of  Liebenstein  heard  the  echo  of  many  a  laugh 
and  peal  of  merriment.  Otho  bore  home  his  bride  to  the  hall 
of  Sternfels. 

That  night  there  was  a  great  banquet  in  Otho's  castle;  the 
lights  shone  from  every  casement,  and  music  swelled  loud  and 
ceaselessly  within. 

By  the  side  of  Otho,  glittering  with  the  prodigal  jewels  of 
the  East,  sat  the  Greek.  Her  dark  locks,  her  flashing  eye, 
the  false  colours  of  her  complexion,  dazzled  the  eyes  of  her 
guests.     On  her  left  hand  sat  the  Templar. 

13 


194  THE  PILGRIMS  OF   THE  RHINE. 

"By  the  holy  rood,"  quoth  the  Templar,  gayly,  though  he 
crossed  himself  as  he  spoke,  "  we  shall  scare  the  owls  to-night 
on  those  grim  towers  of  Liebenstein.  Thy  grave  brother,  Sir 
Otho,  will  have  much  to  do  to  comfort  his  cousin  when  she  sees 
what  a  gallant  life  she  would  have  led  with  thee." 

"Poor  damsel!  "  said  the  Greek,  with  affected  pity,  "doubt- 
less she  will  now  be  reconciled  to  the  rejected  one.  I  hear  he 
is  a  knight  of  a  comely  mien." 

"Peace!  "  said  Otho,  sternly,  and  quafiBing  a  large  goblet  of 
wine. 

The  Greek  bit  her  lip,  and  glanced  meaningly  at  the  Tem- 
plar, who  returned  the  glance. 

"Nought  but  a  beauty  such  as  thine  can  win  my  pardon," 
said  Otho,  turning  to  his  bride,  and  gazing  passionately  in 
her  face. 

The  Greek  smiled. 

Well  sped  the  feast,  the  laugh  deepened,  the  wine  circled, 
when  Otho's  eye  rested  on  a  guest  at  the  bottom  of  the  board, 
whose  figure  was  mantled  from  head  to  foot,  and  whose  face 
was  covered  by  a  dark  veil. 

"Beshrew  me!"  said  he,  aloud,  "but  this  is  scarce  cour- 
teous at  our  revel:  will  the  stranger  vouchsafe  to  unmask?" 

These  words  turned  all  eyes  to  the  figure,  and  they  who  sat 
next  it  perceived  that  it  trembled  violently;  at  length  it  rose, 
and  walking  slowly,  but  with  grace,  to  the  fair  Greek,  it  laid 
beside  her  a  wreath  of  flowers. 

"It  is  a  simple  gift,  ladye,"  said  the  stranger,  in  a  voice  of 
such  sweetness  that  the  rudest  guest  was  touched  by  it;  "but 
it  is  all  I  can  offer,  and  the  bride  of  Otho  should  not  be  with- 
out a  gift  at  my  hands.     May  ye  both  be  happy!  " 

With  these  words,  the  stranger  turned  and  passed  from  the 
hall  silent  as  a  shadow. 

"Bring  back  the  stranger!  "  cried  the  Greek,  recovering  her 
surprise.     Twenty  guests  sprang  up  to  obey  her  mandate. 

"No,  no!  "  said  Otho,  waving  his  hand  impatiently.  "Touch 
her  not,  heed  her  not,  at  your  peril." 

The  Greek  bent  over  the  flowers  to  conceal  her  anger,  and 
from  amongst  them  dropped  the  broken  half  of  a  ring.     Otho 


THE   PILGRIMS   OF   THE   RHINE.  195 

recognized  it  at  once;  it  was  the  broken  half  of  that  ring 
which  he  had  broken  with  his  betrothed.  Alas!  he  required 
not  such  a  sign  to  convince  him  that  that  figure,  so  full  of 
ineffable  grace,  that  touching  voice,  that  simple  action  so  ten- 
der in  its  sentiment,  that  gift,  that  blessing,  came  only  from 
the  forsaken  and  forgiving  Leoline. 

But  Warbeck,  alone  in  his  solitary  tower,  paced  to  and  fro 
with  agitated  steps.  Deep,  undying  wrath  at  his  brother's 
falsehood  mingled  with  one  burning,  one  delicious  hope.  He 
confessed  now  that  he  had  deceived  himself  when  he  thought 
his  passion  was  no  more;  was  there  any  longer  a  bar  to  his 
union  with  Leoline? 

In  that  delicacy  which  was  breathed  into  him  by  his  love, 
he  had  forborne  to  seek,  or  to  offer  her  the  insult  of  consola- 
tion. He  felt  that  the  shock  should  be  borne  alone,  and  yet 
he  pined,  he  thirsted,  to  throw  himself  at  her  feet. 

Nursing  these  contending  thoughts,  he  was  aroused  by  a 
knock  at  his  door;  he  opened  it.  The  passage  was  thronged 
by  Leoline's  maidens,  pale,  anxious,  weeping.  Leoline  had 
left  the  castle,  with  but  one  female  attendant,  none  knew 
whither;  they  knew  too  soon.  From  the  hall  of  Sternfels  she 
had  passed  over  in  the  dark  and  inclement  night  to  the  valley 
in  which  the  convent  of  Bornhofen  offered  to  the  weary  of 
spirit  and  the  broken  of  heart  a  refuge  at  the  shrine  of  God. 

At  daybreak  the  next  morning,  Warbeck  was  at  the  con- 
vent's gate.  He  saw  Leoline.  What  a  change  one  night  of 
suffering  had  made  in  that  face,  which  was  the  fountain  of  all 
loveliness  to  him!  He  clasped  her  in  his  arms;  he  wept;  he 
urged  all  that  love  could  urge :  he  besought  her  to  accept  that 
heart  which  had  never  wronged  her  memory  by  a  thought. 
"  Oh,  Leoline !  didst  thou  not  say  once  that  these  arms  nursed 
thy  childhood;  that  this  voice  soothed  thine  early  sorrows? 
Ah,  trust  to  them  again  and  forever.  From  a  love  that  for- 
sook thee  turn  to  the  love  that  never  swerved." 

"No,"  said  Leoline;  "no.  What  would  the  chivalry  of 
which  thou  art  the  boast, —  what  would  they  say  of  thee,  wert 
thou  to  wed  one  affianced  and  deserted,  who  tarried  years  for 
another,  and  brought  to  thine  arms  only  that  heart  which  he 


196  THE  PILGRBIS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

had  abandoned?  No;  and  even  if  thou,  as  I  know  thou 
wouldst  be,  wert  callous  to  such  wrong  of  thy  high  name, 
shall  I  bring  to  thee  a  broken  heart  and  bruised  spirit?  Shalt 
thou  wed  sorrow  and  not  joy;  and  shall  sighs  that  will  not 
cease,  and  tears  that  may  not  be  dried,  be  the  only  dowry  of 
thy  bride?  Thou,  too,  for  whom  all  blessings  should  be  or- 
dained! No,  forget  me;  forget  thy  poor  Leoline!  She  hath 
nothing  but  prayers  for  thee." 

In  vain  Warbeck  pleaded;  in  vain  he  urged  all  that  passion 
and  truth  could  urge ;  the  springs  of  earthly  love  were  forever 
dried  up  in  the  orphan's  heart,  and  her  resolution  was  im- 
movable. She  tore  herself  from  his  arms,  and  the  gate  of  the 
convent  creaked  harshly  on  his  ear. 

A  new  and  stern  emotion  now  wholly  possessed  him;  though 
naturally  mild  and  gentle,  he  cherished  anger,  when  once  it 
was  aroused,  with  the  strength  of  a  calm  mind.  Leoline's 
tears,  her  sufferings,  her  wrongs,  her  uncomplaining  spirit, 
the  change  already  stamped  upon  her  face,— all  cried  aloud 
to  him  for  vengeance.  "She  is  an  orphan,"  said  he,  bitterly; 
"  she  hath  none  to  protect,  to  redress  her,  save  me  alone.  My 
father's  charge  over  her  forlorn  youth  descends  of  right  to 
me.  What  matters  it  whether  her  forsaker  be  my  brother? 
He  is  her  foe.  Hath  he  not  crushed  her  heart?  Hath  he  not 
consigned  her  to  sorrow  till  the  grave?  And  with  what  in- 
sult! no  warning,  no  excuse;  with  lewd  wassailers  keeping 
revel  for  his  new  bridals  in  the  hearing  —  before  the  sight  — 
of  his  betrothed!  Enough!  the  time  hath  come  when,  to  use 
his  own  words,  'One  of  us  two  must  fall!'  "  He  half  drew  his 
sword  as  he  spoke,  and  thrusting  it  back  violently  into  the 
sheath,  strode  home  to  his  solitary  castle.  The  sound  of 
steeds  and  of  the  hunting  horn  met  him  at  his  portal;  the 
bridal  train  of  Sternfels,  all  mirth  and  gladness,  were  parting 
for  the  chase. 

That  evening  a  knight  in  complete  armour  entered  the  ban- 
quet-hall of  Sternfels,  and  defied  Otho,  on  the  part  of  War- 
beck  of  Liebenstein,  to  mortal  combat. 

Even  the  Templar  was  startled  by  so  unnatural  a  challenge; 
but  Otho,  reddening,  took  up  the  gage,  and  the  day  and  spot 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  197 

were  fixed.  Discontented,  wroth  with  himself,  a  savage  glad- 
ness seized  him;  he  longed  to  wreak  his  desperate  feelings 
even  on  his  brother.  Nor  had  he  ever  in  his  jealous  heart 
forgiven  that  brother  his  virtues  and  his  renown. 

At  the  appointed  hour  the  brothers  met  as  foes.  Warbeck's 
vizor  was  up,  and  all  the  settled  sternness  of  his  soul  was 
stamped  upon  his  brow.  But  Otho,  more  willing  to  brave  the 
arm  than  to  face  the  front  of  his  brother,  kept  his  vizor 
down;  the  Templar  stood  by  him  with  folded  arms.  It  was 
a  study  in  human  passions  to  his  mocking  mind.  Scarce  had 
the  first  trump  sounded  to  this  dread  conflict,  when  a  new 
actor  entered  on  the  scene.  The  rumour  of  so  unprecedented 
an  event  had  not  failed  to  reach  the  convent  of  Bornhofen ; 
and  now,  two  by  two,  came  the  sisters  of  the  holy  shrine,  and 
the  armed  men  made  way,  as  with  trailing  garments  and  veiled 
faces  they  swept  along  into  the  very  lists.  At  that  moment  one 
from  amongst  them  left  her  sisters  with  a  slow  majestic  pace, 
and  paused  not  till  she  stood  right  between  the  brother  foes. 

*' Warbeck,"  she  said  in  a  hollow  voice,  that  curdled  up  his 
dark  spirit  as  it  spoke,  "is  it  thus  thou  wouldst  prove  thy 
love,  and  maintain  thy  trust  over  the  fatherless  orphan  whom 
thy  sire  bequeathed  to  thy  care?  Shall  I  have  murder  on  my 
soul?  "  At  that  question  she  paused,  and  those  who  heard  it 
were  struck  dumb,  and  shuddered.  "  The  murder  of  one  man 
by  the  hand  of  his  own  brother!  Away,  Warbeck!  / 
command. " 

"Shall  I  forget  thy  wrongs,  Leoline?  "  said  Warbeck. 

"Wrongs!  they  united  me  to  God!  they  are  forgiven,  they 
are  no  more.  Earth  has  deserted  me,  but  Heaven  hath  taken 
me  to  its  arms.  Shall  I  murmur  at  the  change?  And  thou, 
Otho  "  —  here  her  voice  faltered  —  "  thou,  does  thy  conscience 
smite  thee  not?  Wouldst  thou  atone  for  robbing  me  of  hope 
by  barring  against  me  the  future?  Wretch  that  I  should  be, 
could  I  dream  of  mercy,  could  I  dream  of  comfort,  if  thy 
brother  fell  by  thy  sword  in  my  cause?  Otho,  I  have  par- 
doned thee,  and  blessed  thee  and  thine.  Once,  perhaps,  thou 
didst  love  me;  remember  how  I  loved  thee, —  cast  down  thine 
arms." 


198  THE   PILGRIMS  OF   THE   RHIXE. 

Otho  gazed  at  the  veiled  form  before  him.  Where  had  the 
soft  Leoline  learned  to  command?  He  turned  to  his  brother; 
he  felt  all  that  he  had  inflicted  upon  both;  and  casting  his 
sword  upon  the  ground,  he  knelt  at  the  feet  of  Leoline,  and 
kissed  her  garment  with  a  devotion  that  votary  never  lavished 
on  a  holier  saint. 

The  spell  that  lay  over  the  warriors  around  was  broken; 
there  was  one  loud  cry  of  congratulation  and  joy.  "And 
thou,  Warbeck? "  said  Leoline,  turning  to  the  spot  where, 
still  motionless  and  haughty,  Warbeck  stood. 

"Have  I  ever  rebelled  against  thy  will?"  said  he,  softly; 
and  buried  the  point  of  his  sword  in  the  earth.  "  Yet,  Leo- 
line, yet,"  added  he,  looking  at  his  kneeling  brother,  "yet  art 
thou  already  better  avenged  than  by  this  steel !  " 

"Thou  art!  thou  art!  "  cried  Otho,  smiting  his  breast;  and 
slowly,  and  scarce  noting  the  crowd  that  fell  back  from  his 
path,  Warbeck  left  the  lists. 

Leoline  said  no  more;  her  divine  errand  was  fulfilled.  She 
looked  long  and  wistfully  after  the  stately  form  of  the  knight 
of  Liebenstein,  and  then,  with  a  slight  sigh,  she  turned  to 
Otho,  "  This  is  the  last  time  we  shall  meet  on  earth.  Peace 
be  with  us  all ! " 

She  then,  with  the  same  majestic  and  collected  bearing, 
passed  on  towards  the  sisterhood;  and  as,  in  the  same  solemn 
procession,  they  glided  back  towards  the  convent,  there  was 
not  a  man  present  —  no,  not  even  the  hardened  Templar  — 
who  would  not,  like  Otho,  have  bent  his  knee  to  Leoline. 

Once  more  Otho  plunged  into  the  wild  revelry  of  the  age; 
his  castle  was  thronged  with  guests,  and  night  after  night  the 
lighted  halls  shone  down  athwart  the  tranquil  Rhine.  The 
beauty  of  the  Greek,  the  wealth  of  Otho,  the  fame  of  the 
Templar,  attracted  all  the  chivalry  from  far  and  near.  Never 
had  the  banks  of  the  Rhine  known  so  hospitable  a  lord  as  the 
knight  of  Sternfels.  Yet  gloom  seized  him  in  the  midst  of 
gladness,  and  the  revel  was  welcome  only  as  the  escape  from 
remorse.  The  voice  of  scandal,  however,  soon  began  to  min- 
gle with  that  of  envy  at  the  pomp  of  Otho.  The  fair  Greek, 
it  was  said,  weary  of  her  lord,  lavished  her  smiles  on  others; 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  199 

the  young  and  the  fair  were  always  most  acceptable  at  the 
castle;  and,  above  all,  her  guilty  love  for  the  Templar  scarcely 
affected  disguise.  Otho  alone  appeared  unconscious  of  the 
rumour;  and  though  he  had  begun  to  neglect  his  bride,  he 
relaxed  not  in  his  intimacy  with  the  Templar. 

It  was  noon,  and  the  Greek  was  sitting  in  her  bower  alone 
with  her  suspected  lover;  the  rich  perfumes  of  the  East  min- 
gled with  the  fragrance  of  flowers,  and  various  luxuries,  un- 
known till  then  in  those  northern  shores,  gave  a  soft  and 
effeminate  character  to  the  room. 

"I  tell  thee,"  said  the  Greek,  petulantly,  "that  he  begins 
to  suspect;  that  I  have  seen  him  watch  thee,  and  mutter  as 
he  watched,  and  play  with  the  hilt  of  his  dagger.  Better  let 
us  fly  ere  it  is  too  late,  for  his  vengeance  would  be  terrible 
were  it  once  roused  against  us.  Ah,  why  did  I  ever  forsake 
my  own  sweet  land  for  these  barbarous  shores !  There,  love 
is  not  considered  eternal,  nor  inconstancy  a  crime  worthy 
death." 

"Peace,  pretty  one!"  said  the  Templar,  carelessly;  "thou 
knowest  not  the  laws  of  our  foolish  chivalry.  Thinkest  thou 
I  could  fly  from  a  knight's  halls  like  a  thief  in  the  night? 
Why,  verily,  even  the  red  cross  would  not  cover  such  dis- 
honour. If  thou  fearest  that  thy  dull  lord  suspects,  let  us 
part.  The  emperor  hath  sent  to  me  from  Frankfort.  Ere 
evening  I  might  be  on  my  way  thither." 

"And  I  left  to  brave  the  barbarian's  revenge  alone?  Is  this 
thy  chivalry?  " 

"  Nay,  prate  not  so  wildly,"  answered  the  Templar.  "  Surely, 
when  the  object  of  his  suspicion  is  gone,  thy  woman's  art  and 
thy  Greek  wiles  can  easily  allay  the  jealous  fiend.  Do  I  not 
know  thee,  Glycera?  Why,  thou  wouldst  fool  all  men  —  save 
a  Templar." 

"And  thou,  cruel,  wouldst  thou  leave  me?"  said  the  Greek, 
weeping.     "How  shall  I  live  without  thee?  " 

The  Templar  laughed  slightly.  "  Can  such  eyes  ever  weep 
without  a  comforter?  But  farewell;  I  must  not  be  found  with 
thee.  To-morrow  I  depart  for  Frankfort;  we  shall  meet 
again." 


200  THE  PILGRBIS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

As  soon  as  the  door  closed  on  the  Templar,  the  Greek  rose, 
and  pacing  the  room,  said,  "Selfish,  selfish!  how  could  I  ever 
trust  him?  Yet  I  dare  not  brave  Otho  alone.  Surely  it  was 
his  step  that  disturbed  us  in  our  yesterday's  interview?  Nay, 
I  will  fly.     I  can  never  want  a  companion." 

She  clapped  her  hands;  a  young  page  appeared;  she  threw 
herself  on  her  seat  and  wept  bitterly. 

The  page  approached,  and  love  was  mingled  with  his 
compassion. 

"Why  weepest  thou,  dearest  lady?"  said  he.  "Is  there 
aught  in  which  Conrad's  services  —  services !  —  ah,  thou  hast 
read  his  heart  —  his  devotion  may  avail?  " 

Otho  had  wandered  out  the  whole  day  alone;  his  vassals 
had  observed  that  his  brow  was  more  gloomy  than  its  wont, 
for  he  usually  concealed  whatever  might  prey  within.  Some 
of  the  most  confidential  of  his  servitors  he  had  conferred  with, 
and  the  conference  had  deepened  the  shadow  of  his  coun- 
tenance. He  returned  at  twilight;  the  Greek  did  not  honour 
the  repast  with  her  presence.  She  was  unwell,  and  not  to  be 
disturbed.     The  gay  Templar  was  the  life  of  the  board. 

"Thou  carriest  a  sad  brow  to-day,  Sir  Otho,"  said  he;  "good 
faith,  thou  hast  caught  it  from  the  air  of  Liebenstein." 

"I  have  something  troubles  me,"  answered  Otho,  forcing  a 
smile,  "which  I  would  fain  impart  to  thy  friendly  bosom. 
The  night  is  clear  and  the  moon  is  up,  let  us  forth  alone  into 
the  garden." 

The  Templar  rose,  and  he  forgot  not  to  gird  on  his  sword 
as  he  followed  the  knight. 

Otho  led  the  way  to  one  of  the  most  distant  terraces  that 
overhung  the  Rhine. 

"Sir  Templar,"  said  he,  pausing,  "answer  me  one  question 
on  thy  knightly  honour.  Was  it  thy  s,tep  that  left  my  lady's 
bower  yester-eve  at  vesper?  " 

Startled  by  so  sudden  a  query,  the  wily  Templar  faltered 
in  his  reply. 

The  red  blood  mounted  to  Otho's  brow.  "Nay,  lie  not,  sir 
knight;  these  eyes,  thanks  to  God!  have  not  witnessed,  but 
these  ears  have  heard  from  others  of  my  dishonour." 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  201 

As  Otho  spoke,  the  Templar's  eye  resting  on  the  water  per- 
ceived a  boat  rowing  fast  over  the  Rhine;  the  distance  for- 
bade him  to  see  more  than  the  outline  of  two  figures  within 
it.  "She  was  right,"  thought  he;  "perhaps  that  boat  already 
bears  her  from  the  danger." 

Drawing  himself  up  to  the  full  height  of  his  tall  stature, 
the  Templar  replied  haughtily, — 

"  Sir  Otho  of  Sternfels,  if  thou  hast  deigned  to  question  thy 
vassals,  obtain  from  them  only  an  answer.  It  is  not  to  con- 
tradict such  minions  that  the  knights  of  the  Temple  pledge 
their  word!  " 

"Enough,"  cried  Otho,  losing  patience,  and  striking  the 
Templar  with  his  clenched  hand.     "Draw,  traitor,  draw!  " 

Alone  in  his  lofty  tower  Warbeck  watched  the  night  deepen 
over  the  heavens,  and  communed  mournfully  with  himself. 
"To  what  end,"  thought  he,  "have  these  strong  affections, 
these  capacities  of  love,  this  yearning  after  sympathy,  been 
given  me?  Unloved  and  unknown  I  walk  to  my  grave,  and 
all  the  nobler  mysteries  of  my  heart  are  forever  to  be  untold. " 

Thus  musing,  he  heard  not  the  challenge  of  the  warder  on 
the  wall,  or  the  unbarring  of  the  gate  below,  or  the  tread  of 
footsteps  along  the  winding  stair;  the  door  was  thrown  sud- 
denly open,  and  Otho  stood  before  him.  "Come,"  he  said, 
in  a  low  voice  trembling  with  passion;  "come,  I  will  show 
thee  that  which  shall  glad  thine  heart.  Twofold  is  Leoline 
avenged." 

Warbeck  looked  in  amazement  on  a  brother  he  had  not  met 
since  they  stood  in  arms  each  against  the  other's  life,  and  he 
now  saw  that  the  arm  that  Otho  extended  to  him  dripped  with 
blood,  trickling  drop  by  drop  upon  the  floor. 

"Come,"  said  Otho,  "follow  me;  it  is  my  last  prayer. 
Come,  for  Leoline's  sake,  come." 

At  that  name  Warbeck  hesitated  no  longer;  he  girded  on 
his  sword,  and  followed  his  brother  down  the  stairs  and 
through  the  castle  gate.  The  porter  scarcely  believed  his 
eyes  when  he  saw  the  two  brothers,  so  long  divided,  go  forth 
at  that  hour  alone,  and  seemingly  in  friendship. 

Warbeck,  arrived  at  that  epoch  in  the  feelings  when  noth- 


202  THE   PILGRIMS   OF   THE   RHINE. 

ing  stuns,  followed  with  silent  steps  the  rapid  strides  of  his 
brother.  The  two  castles,  as  you  are  aware,  are  scarce  a 
stone's  throw  from  each  other.  In  a  few  minutes  Otho 
paused  at  an  open  space  in  one  of  the  terraces  of  Sternfels, 
on  which  the  moon  shone  bright  and  steady.  "Behold!"  he 
said,  in  a  ghastly  voice,  *' behold!"  and  Warbeck  saw  on  the 
sward  the  corpse  of  the  Templar,  bathed  with  the  blood  that 
even  still  poured  fast  and  warm  from  his  heart. 

"Hark!  "  said  Otho.  "He  it  was  who  first  made  me  waver 
in  my  vows  to  Leoline ;  he  persuaded  me  to  wed  yon  whited 
falsehood.  Hark!  he,  who  had  thus  wronged  my  real  love, 
dishonoured  me  with  my  faithless  bride,  and  thus  —  thus  — 
thus "  —  as  grinding  his  teeth,  he  spurned  again  and  again 
the  dead  body  of  the  Templar  —  "thus  Leoline  and  myself  are 
avenged! " 

"And  thy  wife?  "  said  Warbeck,  pityingly. 

"Fled,  —  fled  with  a  hireling  page.  It  is  well!  she  was  not 
worth  the  sword  that  was  once  belted  on  —  by  Leoline." 

The  tradition,  dear  Gertrude,  proceeds  to  tell  us  that  Otho, 
though  often  menaced  by  the  rude  justice  of  the  day  for  the 
death  of  the  Templar,  defied  and  escaped  the  menace.  On  the 
very  night  of  his  revenge  a  long  and  delirious  illness  seized 
him;  the  generous  Warbeck  forgave,  forgot  all,  save  that  he 
had  been  once  consecrated  by  Leoline's  love.  He  tended  him 
through  his  sickness,  and  when  he  recovered,  Otho  was  an 
altered  man.  He  forswore  the  comrades  he  had  once  courted, 
the  revels  he  had  once  led.  The  halls  of  Sternfels  were  deso- 
late as  those  of  Liebenstein.  The  only  companion  Otho  sought 
was  Warbeck,  and  Warbeck  bore  with  him.  They  had  no 
topic  in  common,  for  on  one  subject  Warbeck  at  least  felt  too 
deeply  ever  to  trust  himself  to  speak ;  yet  did  a  strange  and 
secret  sympathy  re-unite  them.  They  had  at  least  a  common 
sorrow;  often  they  were  seen  wandering  together  by  the  soli- 
tary banks  of  the  river,  or  amidst  the  woods,  without  appar- 
ently interchanging  word  or  sign.  Otho  died  first,  and  still 
in  the  prime  of  youth;  and  Warbeck  was  now  left  companion- 
less.     In  vain  the  imperial  court  wooed  him  to  its  pleasures ; 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF   THE  RHINE.  203 

in  vain  the  camp  proffered  him  the  oblivion  of  renown.  Ah ! 
could  he  tear  himself  from  a  spot  where  morning  and  night 
he  could  see  afar,  amidst  the  valley,  the  roof  that  sheltered 
Leoline,  and  on  which  every  copse,  every  turf,  reminded  him 
of  former  days?  His  solitary  life,  his  midnight  vigils,  strange 
scrolls  about  his  chamber,  obtained  him  by  degrees  the  repute 
of  cultivating  the  darker  arts;  and  shunning,  he  became 
shunned  by  all.  But  still  it  was  sweet  to  hear  from  time  to 
time  of  the  increasing  sanctity  of  her  in  whom  he  had  treas- 
ured up  his  last  thoughts  of  earth.  She  it  was  who  healed 
the  sick;  she  it  was  who  relieved  the  poor;  and  the  supersti- 
tion of  that  age  brought  pilgrims  from  afar  to  the  altars  that 
she  served. 

]Many  years  afterwards,  a  band  of  lawless  robbers,  who  ever 
and  anon  broke  from  their  mountain  fastnesses  to  pillage  and 
to  desolate  the  valleys  of  the  Rhine, — who  spared  neither  sex 
nor  age,  neither  tower  nor  hut,  nor  even  the  houses  of  God 
Himself,  —  laid  waste  the  territories  round  Bornhofen,  and  de- 
manded treasure  from  the  convent.  The  abbess,  of  the  bold 
lineage  of  Rudesheim,  refused  the  sacrilegious  demand.  The 
convent  was  stormed;  its  vassals  resisted;  the  robbers,  inured 
to  slaughter,  won  the  day;  already  the  gates  were  forced, 
when  a  knight,  at  the  head  of  a  small  but  hardy  troop,  rushed 
down  from  the  mountain  side  and  turned  the  tide  of  the  fray. 
Wherever  his  sword  flashed  fell  a  foe;  wherever  his  war-cry 
sounded  was  a  space  of  dead  men  in  the  thick  of  the  battle. 
The  fight  was  won,  the  convent  saved;  the  abbess  and  the 
sisterhood  came  forth  to  bless  their  deliverer.  Laid  under  an 
aged  oak,  he  was  bleeding  fast  to  death ;  his  head  was  bare 
and  his  locks  were  gray,  but  scarcely  yet  with  years.  One 
only  of  the  sisterhood  recognized  that  majestic  face;  one 
bathed  his  parched  lips;  one  held  his  dying  hand;  and  in 
Leoline's  presence  passed  away  the  faithful  spirit  of  the  last 
lord  of  Liebenstein ! 

"Oh!  "  said  Gertrude,  through  her  tears;  "surely  you  must 
have  altered  the  facts, —  surely  —  surely  —  it  must  have  been 
impossible  for  Leoline,  with  a  woman's  heart,  to  have  loved 
Otho  more  than  Warbeck?  " 


204  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

"  My  child, "  said  Vane,  "  so  think  women  when  they  read  a 
tale  of  love,  and  see  the  whole  heart  bared  before  them;  but 
not  so  act  they  in  real  life,  when  they  see  only  the  surface  of 
character,  and  pierce  not  its  depths  —  until  it  is  too  late !  " 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE   IMMORTALITY    OF    THE   SOUL.  —  A    COMMON   INCIDENT 
NOT    BEFORE    DESCRIBED. TREVYLYAN   AND    GERTRUDE. 

The  day  now  grew  cool  as  it  waned  to  its  decline,  and  the 
breeze  came  sharp  upon  the  delicate  frame  of  the  sufferer. 
They  resolved  to  proceed  no  farther;  and  as  they  carried 
with  them  attendants  and  baggage,  which  rendered  their 
route  almost  independent  of  the  ordinary  accommodation,  they 
steered  for  the  opposite  shore,  and  landed  at  a  village  beauti- 
fully sequestered  in  a  valley,  and  where  they  fortunately 
obtained  a  lodging  not  often  met  with  in  the  regions  of  the 
picturesque. 

When  Gertrude,  at  an  early  hour,  retired  to  bed,  Vane  and 

Du e  fell  into  speculative  conversation  upon  the  nature  of 

man.  Vane's  philosophy  was  of  a  quiet  and  passive  scepti- 
cism; the  physician  dared  more  boldly,  and  rushed  from  doubt 
to  negation.  The  attention  of  Trevylyan,  as  he  sat  apart  and 
musing,  was  arrested  in  despite  of  himself.  He  listened  to 
an  argument  in  which  he  took  no  share,  but  which  suddenly 
inspired  him  with  an  interest  in  that  awful  subject  which,  in 
the  heat  of  youth  and  the  occupations  of  the  world,  had  never 
been  so  prominently  called  forth  before. 

"What,"  thought  he,  with  unutterable  anguish,  as  he  lis- 
tened to  the  earnest  vehemence  of  the  Frenchman  and  the 
tranquil  assent  of  Vane,  "if  this  creed  were  indeed  true, — 
if  there  be  no  other  world,  —  Gertrude  is  lost  to  me  eternally, 
through  the  dread  gloom  of  death  there  would  break  forth  no 
star!" 


THE  PILGRBIS  OF  THE  RHINE.  205 

That  is  a  peculiar  incident  that  perhaps  occurs  to  us  all  at 
times,  but  which  I  have  never  found  expressed  in  books, — 
namely,  to  hear  a  doubt  of  futurity  at  the  very  moment  in 
which  the  present  is  most  overcast;  and  to  find  at  once  this 
world  stripped  of  its  delusion  and  the  next  of  its  consolation. 
It  is  perhaps  for  others,  rather  than  ourselves,  that  the  fond 
heart  requires  a  Hereafter.  The  tranquil  rest,  the  shadow, 
and  the  silence,  the  mere  pause  of  the  wheel  of  life,  have  no 
terror  for  the  wise,  who  know  the  due  value  of  the  world. 

"  After  the  billows  of  a  stormy  sea, 
Sweet  is  at  last  the  haven  of  repose  !  " 

But  not  so  when  that  stillness  is  to  divide  us  eternally  from 
others;  when  those  we  have  loved  with  all  the  passion,  the 
devotion,  the  watchful  sanctity  of  the  weak  human  heart,  are 
to  exist  to  us  no  more!  when,  after  long  years  of  desertion 
and  widowhood  on  earth,  there  is  to  be  no  hope  of  reunion  in 
that  Invisible  beyond  the  stars ;  when  the  torch,  not  of  life 
only,  but  of  love,  is  to  be  quenched  in  the  Dark  Fountain, 
and  the  grave,  that  we  would  fain  hope  is  the  great  restorer 
of  broken  ties,  is  but  the  dumb  seal  of  hopeless,  utter,  inexor- 
able separation !  And  it  is  this  thought,  this  sentiment,  which 
makes  religion  out  of  woe,  and  teaches  belief  to  the  mourning 
heart  that  in  the  gladness  of  united  affections  felt  not  the  ne- 
cessity of  a  heaven !  To  how  many  is  the  death  of  the  beloved 
the  parent  of  faith ! 

Stung  by  his  thoughts,  Trevylyan  rose  abruptly,  and  steal- 
ing from  the  lowly  hostelry,  walked  forth  amidst  the  serene 
and  deepening  night;  from  the  window  of  Gertrude's  room 
the  light  streamed  calm  on  the  purple  air. 

With  uneven  steps  and  many  a  pause,  he  paced  to  and  fro 
beneath  the  window,  and  gave  the  rein  to  his  thoughts.  How 
intensely  he  felt  the  all  that  Gertrude  was  to  him!  how  bit- 
terly he  foresaw  the  change  in  his  lot  and  character  that  her 
death  would  work  out!  For  who  that  met  him  in  later  years 
ever  dreamed  that  emotions  so  soft,  and  yet  so  ardent,  had 
visited  one  so  stern?  Who  could  have  believed  that  time  was 
when  the  polished  and  cold  Trevylyan  had  kept  the  vigils  he 


206  THE   PILGRIMS   OF   THE   RHINE. 

now  held  below  the  chamber  of  one  so  little  like  himself  as 
Gertrude,  in  that  remote  and  solitary  hamlet,  shut  in  by  the 
haunted  mountains  of  the  Rhine,  and  beneath  the  moonlight 
of  the  romantic  North? 

While  thus  engaged,  the  light  in  Gertrude's  room  was  sud- 
denly extinguished ;  it  is  impossible  to  express  how  much  that 
trivial  incident  affected  him !  It  was  like  an  emblem  of  what 
was  to  come;  the  light  had  been  the  only  evidence  of  life  that 
broke  upon  that  hour,  and  he  was  now  left  alone  with  the 
shades  of  night.  Was  not  this  like  the  herald  of  Gertrude's 
own  death;  the  extinction  of  the  only  living  ray  that  broke 
upon  the  darkness  of  the  world? 

His  anguish,  his  presentiment  of  utter  desolation,  increased. 
He  groaned  aloud;  he  dashed  his  clenched  hand  to  his  breast; 
large  and  cold  drops  of  agony  stole  down  his  brow.  "Father," 
he  exclaimed  with  a  struggling  voice,  "  let  this  cup  pass  from 
me !  Smite  my  ambition  to  the  root ;  curse  me  with  poverty, 
shame,  and  bodily  disease ;  but  leave  me  this  one  solace,  this 
one  companion  of  my  fate !  " 

At  this  moment  Gertrude's  window  opened  gently,  and  he 
heard  accents  steal  soothingly  upon  his  ear. 

"  Is  not  that  your  voice,  Albert?  "  said  she,  softly.  "  I  heard 
it  just  as  I  lay  down  to  rest,  and  could  not  sleep  while  you 
were  thus  exposed  to  the  damp  night  air.  You  do  not  answer; 
surely  it  is  your  voice:  when  did  I  mistake  it  for  another's?  " 

Mastering  with  a  violent  effort  his  emotions,  Trevylyan  an- 
swered, with  a  sort  of  convulsive  gayety, — 

"  Why  come  to  these  shores,  dear  Gertrude,  unless  you  are 
honoured  with  the  chivalry  that  belongs  to  them?  What 
wind,  what  blight,  can  harm  me  while  within  the  circle  of 
your  presence;  and  what  sleep  can  bring  me  dreams  so  dear 
as  the  waking  thought  of  you?  " 

"It  is  cold,"  said  Gertrude,  shivering;  "come  in,  dear 
Albert,  I  beseech  you,  and  I  will  thank  you  to-morrow." 
Gertrude's  voice  was  choked  by  the  hectic  cough,  that  went 
like  an  arrow  to  Trevylyan's  heart;  and  he  felt  that  in  her 
anxiety  for  him  she  was  now  exposing  her  own  frame  to  the 
unwholesome  nigfht. 


THE  riLGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  207 

He  spoke  no  more,  but  hurried  within  the  house;  and  when 
the  gray  light  of  morn  broke  upon  his  gloomy  features,  hag- 
gard from  the  want  of  sleep,  it  might  have  seemed,  in  that 
dim  eye  and  fast-sinking  cheek,  as  if  the  lovers  were  not  to 
be  divided  —  even  by  death  itself. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

IN  WHICH  THE  READER  WILL  LEARIST  HOW  THE  FAIRIES  WERE 
RECEIVED  BY  THE  SOVEREIGNS  OF  THE  MINES. THE  COM- 
PLAINT OF  THE  LAST  OF  THE  FAUNS.  —  THE  RED  HUNTS- 
MAN.   THE   STORM.  —  DEATH. 

In  the  deep  valley  of  Ehrenthal,  the  metal  kings  —  the 
Prince  of  the  Silver  Palaces,  the  Gnome  Monarch  of  the  dull 
Lead  Mine,  the  President  of  the  Copper  United  States  —  held 
a  court  to  receive  the  fairy  wanderers  from  the  island  of 
Nonnewerth. 

The  prince  was  there,  in  a  gallant  hunting-suit  of  oak 
leaves,  in  honour  to  England;  and  wore  a  profusion  of  fairy 
orders,  which  had  been  instituted  from  time  to  time,  in  honour 
of  the  human  poets  that  had  celebrated  the  spiritual  and  ethe- 
real tribes.  Chief  of  these,  sweet  Dreamer  of  the  "Midsum- 
mer Night's  Dream,"  was  the  badge  crystallized  from  the 
dews  that  rose  above  the  whispering  reeds  of  Avon  on  the 
night  of  thy  birth,  —  the  great  epoch  of  the  intellectual  world! 
Nor  wert  thou,  0  beloved  Musaeus!  nor  thou,  dim-dreaming 
Tieck!  nor  were  ye,  the  wild  imaginer  of  the  bright-haired 
Undine,  and  the  wayward  spirit  that  invoked  for  the  gloomy 
Manfred  the  Witch  of  the  breathless  Alps  and  the  spirits  of 
earth  and  air! — nor  were  ye  Avithout  the  honours  of  fairy 
homage!  Your  memory  may  fade  from  the  heart  of  man, 
and  the  spells  of  new  enchanters  may  succeed  to  the  charm 
you  once  wove  over  the  face  of  the  common  world ;  but  still 
in  the  green  knolls  of  the  haunted  valley  and  the  deep  shade 


208  THE   PILGRIMS   OF   THE   RHINE. 

of  forests,  and  the  starred  palaces  of  air,  ye  are  honoured  by 
the  beings  of  your  dreams,  as  demigods  and  kings!  Your 
graves  are  tended  by  invisible  hands,  and  the  places  of  your 
birth  are  hallowed  by  no  perishable  worship! 

Even  as  I  write,  ^  far  away  amidst  the  hills  of  Scotland,  and 
by  the  forest  thou  hast  clothed  with  immortal  verdure,  thou, 
the  maker  of  "the  Harp  by  lone  Glenfillan's  spring,"  art  pass- 
ing from  the  earth  which  thou  hast  "  painted  with  delight. " 
And  such  are  the  chances  of  mortal  fame,  our  children's 
children  may  raise  new  idols  on  the  site  of  thy  holy  altar, 
and  cavil  where  their  sires  adored;  but  for  thee  the  mermaid 
of  the  ocean  shall  wail  in  her  coral  caves,  and  the  sprite  that 
lives  in  the  waterfalls  shall  mourn !  Strange  shapes  shall  hew 
thy  monument  in  the  recesses  of  the  lonely  rocks!  ever  by 
moonlight  shall  the  fairies  pause  from  their  roundel  when 
some  wild  note  of  their  minstrelsy  reminds  them  of  thine 
own, —  ceasing  from  their  revelries,  to  weep  for  the  silence  of 
that  mighty  lyre,  which  breathed  alike  a  revelation  of  the 
mysteries  of  spirits  and  of  men! 

The  King  of  the  Silver  Mines  sat  in  a  cavern  in  the  valley, 
through  which  the  moonlight  pierced  its  way  and  slept  in 
shadow  on  the  soil  shining  with  metals  wrought  into  unnum- 
bered shapes;  and  below  him,  on  a  humbler  throne,  with  a 
gray  beard  and  downcast  eye,  sat  the  aged  King  of  the  Dwarfs 
that  preside  over  the  dull  realms  of  lead,  and  inspire  the  verse 

of  ,  and  the  prose  of  !     And  there  too  a  fantastic 

household  elf  was  the  President  of  the  Copper  Eepublie, —  a 
spirit  that  loves  economy  and  the  Uses,  and  smiles  sparely  on 
the  Beautiful.  But,  in  the  centre  of  the  cave,  upon  beds  of 
the  softest  mosses,  the  untrodden  growth  of  ages,  reclined  the 
fairy  visitors,  Nymphalin  seated  by  her  betrothed.  And  round 
the  walls  of  the  cave  were  dwarf  attendants  on  the  sovereigns 
of  the  metals,  of  a  thousand  odd  shapes  and  fantastic  gar- 
ments. On  the  abrupt  ledges  of  the  rocks  the  bats,  charmed 
to  stillness  but  not  sleep,  clustered  thickly,  watching  the  scene 
with  fixed  and  amazed  eyes ;  and  one  old  gray  owl,  the  f avour- 

1  It  was  just  at  the  time  the  author  was  finishing  this  work  that  the  great 
master  of  his  art  was  drawing  to  the  close  of  his  career. 


THE  PILGRIMS   OF  THE   RHINE.  209 

ite  of  the  witch  of  the  valley,  sat  blinking  in  a  corner,  listen- 
ing with  all  her  might  that  she  might  bring  home  the  scandal 
to  her  mistress. 

"And  tell  me,  Prince  of  the  Khine-Island  Fays,"  said  the 
King  of  the  Silver  Mines,  "for  thou  art  a  traveller,  and  a 
fairy  that  hath  seen  much,  how  go  men's  affairs  in  the  upper 
world?  As  to  ourself,  we  live  here  in  a  stupid  splendour, 
and  only  hear  the  news  of  the  day  when  our  brother  of  lead 
pajs  a  visit  to  the  English  printing-press,  or  the  President  of 
Copper  goes  to  look  at  his  improvements  in  steam-engines." 

"Indeed,"  replied  Fayzenheim,  preparing  to  speak  like 
JEneas  in  the  Carthaginian  court, —  "indeed,  your  Majesty,  I 
know  not  much  that  will  interest  you  in  the  present  aspect  of 
mortal  affairs,  except  that  you  are  quite  as  much  honoured  at 
this  day  as  when  the  Roman  conqueror  bent  his  knee  to  you 
among  the  mountains  of  Taunus ;  and  a  vast  number  of  little 
round  subjects  of  yours  are  constantly  carried  about  by  the 
rich,  and  pined  after  with  hopeless  adoration  by  the  poor. 
But,  begging  your  Majesty's  pardon,  may  I  ask  what  has  be- 
come of  your  cousin,  the  King  of  the  Golden  Mines?  I  know 
very  well  that  he  has  no  dominion  in  these  valleys,  and  do 
not  therefore  wonder  at  his  absence  from  your  court  this 
night;  but  I  see  so  little  of  his  subjects  on  earth  that  I  should 
fear  his  empire  was  well  nigh  at  an  end,  if  I  did  not  recognize 
everywhere  the  most  servile  homage  paid  to  a  power  now  be- 
come almost  invisible." 

The  King  of  the  Silver  Mines  fetched  a  deep  sigh.  "Alas, 
prince,"  said  he,  "too  well  do  you  divine  the  expiration  of  my 
cousin's  empire.  So  many  of  his  subjects  have  from  time  to 
time  gone  forth  to  the  world,  pressed  into  military  service  and 
never  returning,  that  his  kingdom  is  nearly  depopulated.  And 
he  lives  far  off  in  the  distant  parts  of  the  earth,  in  a  state  of 
melancholy  seclusion;  the  age  of  gold  has  passed,  the  age  of 
paper  has  commenced." 

"Paper,"  said  Nymphalin,  who  was  still  somewhat  of  a 
pr/cieuse, —  "paper  is  a  wonderful  thing.  What  pretty  books 
the  human  people  write  upon  it!  " 

"Ah!  that 's  what  I  design  to  convey,"  said  the  silver  king. 

14 


210  THE   PILGRIMS   OF   THE   RHINE. 

"It  is  the  age  less  of  paper  money  than  paper  government: 
the  Press  is  the  true  bank."  The  lord  treasurer  of  the  Eng- 
lish fairies  pricked  up  his  ears  at  the  word  "bank;"  for  he 
was  the  Attwood  of  the  fairies:  he  had  a  favourite  plan  of 
making  money  out  of  bulrushes,  and  had  written  four  large 
bees '-wings  full  upon  the  true  nature  of  capital. 

While  they  were  thus  conversing,  a  sudden  sound  as  of  some 
rustic  and  rude  music  broke  along  the  air,  and  closing  its  wild 
burden,  they  heard  the  following  song :  — 


THE  COMPLAINT  OF  THE  LAST  FAUN. 


The  moon  on  the  Latmos  mountain 

Her  pining  vigil  keeps ; 
And  ever  the  silver  fouutain 

In  the  Dorian  valley  weeps. 
But  gone  are  Endymion's  dreams ; 

And  the  crystal  lymph 

Bewails  the  nymph 
Whose  beauty  sleeked  the  streams ! 


Round  Arcady's  oak  its  green 

The  Bromian  ivy  weaves  ; 
But  no  more  is  the  satyr  seen 

Laughing  out  from  the  glossy  leaves. 
Hushed  is  the  Lycian  lute, 

Still  grows  the  seed 

Of  the  Mcenale  reed, 
But  the  pipe  of  Pan  is  mute ! 


The  leaves  in  the  noon-day  quiver ; 

The  vines  on  the  mountains  wave  ; 
And  Tiber  rolls  his  river 

As  fresh  by  the  Sy Ivan's  cave. 
But  my  brothers  are  dead  and  gone ; 

And  far  away 

From  their  graves  I  stray. 
And  dream  of  the  past  alone ! 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF   THE   RHINE.  211 


And  the  sun  of  the  north  is  chill ; 

And  keen  is  the  northern  gale ; 
Alas  for  the  soug  of  the  Argive  hill; 

And  the  dance  in  the  Cretan  vale  ! 
The  youth  of  the  earth  is  o'er, 

And  its  breast  is  rife 

With  the  teeming  life 
Of  the  golden  Tribes  no  more ! 


My  race  are  more  blest  than  I, 

Asleep  in  their  distant  bed ; 
*T  were  better,  be  sure,  to  die 

Than  to  mourn  for  the  buried  Dead  : 
To  rove  by  the  stranger  streams, 

At  dusk  and  dawn 

A  lonely  faun, 
The  last  of  the  Grecian's  dreams. 

As  the  song  ended  a  shadow  crossed  the  moonlight,  that  lay 
white  and  lustrous  before  the  aperture  of  the  cavern;  and 
Nymphalin,  looking  up,  beheld  a  graceful  yet  grotesque  figure 
standing  on  the  sward  without,  and  gazing  on  the  group  in 
the  cave.  It  was  a  shaggy  form,  with  a  goat's  legs  and 
ears ;  but  the  rest  of  its  body,  and  the  height  of  the  stature, 
like  a  man's.  An  arch,  pleasant,  yet  malicious  smile  played 
about  its  lips;  and  in  its  hand  it  held  the  pastoral  pipe  of 
which  poets  have  sung, —  they  would  find  it  difficult  to  sing 
to  it! 

"And  who  art  thou?"  said  Fayzenheim,  with  the  air  of  a 
hero. 

"I  am  the  last  lingering  wanderer  of  the  race  which  the 
Romans  worshipped;  hither  I  followed  their  victorious  steps, 
and  in  these  green  hollows  have  I  remained.  Sometimes  in 
the  still  noon,  when  the  leaves  of  spring  bud  upon  the  whis- 
pering woods,  I  peer  forth  from  my  rocky  lair,  and  startle  the 
peasant  with  my  strange  voice  and  stranger  shape.  Then  goes 
he  home,  and  puzzles  his  thick  brain  with  mopes  and  fancies, 


212  THE  PILGRIMS   OF   THE  RHINE. 

till  at  length  lie  imagines  me,  the  creature  of  the  South!  one 
of  his  northern  demons,  and  his  poets  adapt  the  apparition  to 
their  barbarous  lines." 

"Ho!"  quoth  the  silver  king,  "surely  thou  art  the  origin 
of  the  fabled  Satan  of  the  cowled  men  living  whilom  in  yon- 
der ruins,  with  its  horns  and  goatish  limbs;  and  the  harmless 
faun  has  been  made  the  figuration  of  the  most  implacable  of 
fiends.  But  why,  0  wanderer  of  the  South,  liugerest  thou  in 
these  foreign  dells?  Why  returnest  thou  not  to  the  bi-forked 
hill -top  of  old  Parnassus,  or  the  wastes  around  the  yellow 
course  of  the  Tiber?  " 

"My  brethren  are  no  more,"  said  the  poor  faun;  "and  the 
very  faith  that  left  us  sacred  and  unharmed  is  departed.  But 
here  all  the  spirits  not  of  mortality  are  still  honoured;  and  I 
wander,  mourning  for  Silenus,  though  amidst  the  vines  thtit 
shonld  console  me  for  his  loss." 

"Thou  hast  known  great  beings  in  thy  day,"  said  the  leaden 
king,  who  loved  the  philosophy  of  a  truism  (and  the  history 
of  whose  inspirations  I  shall  one  day  write). 

"Ah,  yes,"  said  the  faun;  "my  birth  was  amidst  the  fresh- 
ness of  the  world,  when  the  flush  of  the  universal  life  coloured 
all  things  with  divinity;  when  not  a  tree  but  had  its  Dryad, 
not  a  fountain  that  was  without  its  Nymph.  I  sat  by  the  gray 
throne  of  Saturn,  in  his  old  age,  ere  yet  he  was  discrowned 
(for  he  was  no  visionary  ideal,  but  the  arch  monarch  of  the 
pastoral  age),  and  heard  from  his  lips  the  history  of  the 
world's  birth.  But  those  times  are  gone  forever,  —  they  have 
left  harsh  successors." 

"It  is  the  age  of  paper,"  muttered  the  lord  treasurer,  shak- 
ing his  head. 

"What  ho,  for  a  dance!"  cried  Fayzenheim,  too  royal  for 
moralities,  and  he  whirled  the  beautiful  Nymphalin  into  a 
waltz.  Then  forth  issued  the  fairies,  and  out  went  the  dwarfs. 
And  the  faun  leaning  against  an  aged  elm,  ere  yet  the  mid- 
night waned,  the  elves  danced  their  charmed  round  to  the  an- 
tique minstrelsy  of  his  pipe,—  the  minstrelsy  of  the  Grecian 
world ! 

"Hast  thou  seen  yet,  my  Nymphalin,"  said  Fayzenheim,  in 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE   RHINE.  213 

the  pauses  of  the  dance,  "  the  recess  of  the  Hartz,  and  the  red 
form  of  its  mighty  hunter?  " 

"It  is  a  fearful  sight,"  answered  Nymphalin;  "but  with 
thee  I  should  not  fear." 

"Away  then!  "  cried  Fayzenheim;  "let  us  away  at  the  first 
cock-crow,  into  those  shaggy  dells;  for  there  is  no  need  of 
night  to  conceal  us,  and  the  unwitnessed  blush  of  morn  or  the 
dreary  silence  of  noon  is,  no  less  than  the  moon's  reign,  the 
season  for  the  sports  of  the  superhuman  tribes." 

Nymphalin,  charmed  with  the  proposal,  readily  assented; 
and  at  the  last  hour  of  night,  bestriding  the  starbeams  of  the 
many-titled  Friga,  away  sped  the  fairy  cavalcade  to  the  gloom 
of  the  mystic  Hartz. 

Fain  would  I  relate  the  manner  of  their  arrival  in  the  thick 
recesses  of  the  forest, —  how  they  found  the  Red  Hunter  seated 
on  a  fallen  pine  beside  a  wide  chasm  in  the  earth,  with  the 
arching  bows  of  the  wizard  oak  wreathing  above  his  head  as  a 
canopy,  and  his  bow  and  spear  lying  idle  at  his  feet.  Fain 
would  I  tell  of  the  reception  which  he  deigned  to  the  fairies, 
and  how  he  told  them  of  his  ancient  victories  over  man;  how 
he  chafed  at  the  gathering  invasions  of  his  realm;  and  how 
joyously  he  gloated  of  some  great  convulsion  ^  in  the  northern 
States,  which,  rapt  into  moody  reveries  in  those  solitary  woods, 
the  fierce  demon  brood ingly  foresaw.  All  these  fain  would  I 
narrate,  but  they  are  not  of  the  Ehine,  and  my  story  will  not 
brook  the  delay.  While  thus  conversing  with  the  fiend,  noon 
had  crept  on,  and  the  sky  had  become  overcast  and  lowering ; 
the  giant  trees  waved  gustily  to  and  fro,  and  the  low  gather- 
ings of  the  thunder  announced  the  approaching  storm.  Then 
the  hunter  rose  and  stretched  his  mighty  limbs,  and  seizing 
his  spear,  he  strode  rapidly  into  the  forest  to  meet  the  things 
of  his  own  tribe  that  the  tempest  wakes  from  their  rugged 
lair. 

A   sudden   recollection    broke    upon    Nymphalin.      "Alas, 

alas !  "    she  cried,  wringing  her  hands ;   "  what  have  I  done ! 

In  journeying  hither  with  thee,  I  have  forgotten  my  office. 

I  have  neglected  my  watch  over  the  elements,  and  my  human 

^  Which  has  come  to  pass. —  1847. 


214  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

charge  is  at   this  hour,  perhaps,  exposed  to  all  the  fury  of 
the  storm." 

"Cheer  thee,  my  Nymphalin, "  said  the  prince,  "we  will  lay 
the  tempest ;  "  and  he  waved  his  sword  and  muttered  the 
charms  which  curb  the  winds  and  roll  back  the  marching 
thunder:  but  for  once  the  tempest  ceased  not  at  his  spells. 
And  now,  as  the  fairies  sped  along  the  troubled  air,  a  pale 
and  beautiful  form  met  them  by  the  way,  and  the  fairies 
paused  and  trembled ;  for  the  power  of  that  Shape  could  van- 
quish even  them.  It  was  the  form  of  a  Female,  with  golden 
hair,  crowned  with  a  chaplet  of  withered  leaves ;  her  bosoms, 
of  an  exceeding  beauty,  lay  bare  to  the  wind,  and  an  infant 
was  clasped  between  them,  hushed  into  a  sleep  so  still,  that 
neither  the  roar  of  the  thunder,  nor  the  livid  lightning  flashing 
from  cloud  to  cloud,  could  even  rufSe,  much  less  arouse,  the 
slumberer.  And  the  face  of  the  female  was  unutterably  calm 
and  sweet  (though  with  a  something  of  severe) ;  there  was  no 
line  nor  wrinkle  in  the  hueless  brow;  care  never  wrote  its 
defacing  characters  upon  that  everlasting  beauty.  It  knew 
no  sorrow  or  change;  ghostlike  and  shadowy  floated  on  that 
Shape  through  the  abyss  of  Time,  governing  the  world  with 
an  unquestioned  and  noiseless  sway.  And  the  children  of  the 
green  solitudes  of  the  earth,  the  lovely  fairies  of  my  tale, 
shuddered  as  they  gazed  and  recognized  —  the  form  of  death, 
—  death  vindicated. 

"And  why,"  said  the  beautiful  Shape,  with  a  voice  soft  as 
the  last  sighs  of  a  dying  babe, —  "why  trouble  ye  the  air  with 
spells?'  Mine  is  the  hour  and  the  empire,  and  the  storm  is  the 
creature  of  my  power.  Far  yonder  to  the  west  it  sweeps  over 
the  sea,  and  the  ship  ceases  to  vex  the  waves ;  it  smites  the 
forest,  and  the  destined  tree,  torn  from  its  roots,  feels  the 
winter  strip  the  gladness  from  its  boughs  no  more !  The  roar 
of  the  elements  is  the  herald  of  eternal  stillness  to  their  vic- 
tims ;  and  they  who  hear  the  progress  of  my  power  idly  shud- 
der at  the  coming  of  peace.  And  thou,  0  tender  daughter  of 
the  fairy  kings,  why  grievest  thou  at  a  mortal's  doom? 
Knowest  thou  not  that  sorrow  cometh  with  years,  and  that 
to  live  is  to  mourn?    Blessed  is  the  flower  that,  nipped  in  its 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RIIIXE.  215 

early  spring,  feels  not  the  blast  that  one  by  one  scatters  its 
blossoms  around  it,  and  leaves  but  the  barren  stem.  Blessed 
are  the  young  whom  I  clasp  to  my  breast,  and  lull  into  the 
sleep  which  the  storm  cannot  break,  nor  the  morrow  arouse 
to  sorrow  or  to  toil.  The  heart  that  is  stilled  in  the  bloom 
of  its  first  emotions,  that  turns  with  its  last  throb  to  the  eye 
of  love,  as  yet  unlearned  in  the  possibility  of  change, —  has 
exhausted  already  the  wine  of  life,  and  is  saved  only  from  the 
lees.  As  the  mother  soothes  to  sleep  the  wail  of  her  troubled 
child,  I  open  my  arms  to  the  vexed  spirit,  and  my  bosom 
cradles  the  unquiet  to  repose !  " 

The  fairies  answered  not,  for  a  chill  and  a  fear  lay  over 
them,  and  the  Shape  glided  on;  ever  as  it  passed  away  through 
the  veiling  clouds  they  heard  its  low  voice  singing  amidst  the 
roar  of  the  storm,  as  the  dirge  of  the  water-sprite  over  the 
vessel  it  hath  lured  into  the  whirlpool  or  the  shoals. 


CHAPTEE  XXVII. 

THURMBERG.  A    STORM    UPON    THE    RHINE.  —  THE    RUINS    OF 

RHEINFELS.  PERIL      UNFELT      BY     LOVE.  THE     ECHO     OP 

THE    LURLEI-BERG.  ST.    GOAR.  KAUB,     GUTENFELS,    AND 

PFALZGRAFENSTEIN.  A     CERTAIN     VASTNESS     OF     MIND     IN 

THE     FIRST     HERMITS.  THE    SCENERY     OF     THE     RHINE     TO 

BACHARACH. 

Our  party  continued  their  voyage  the  next  day,  which  was 
less  bright  than  any  they  had  yet  experienced.  The  clouds 
swept  on  dull  and  heavy,  suffering  the  sun  only  to  break  forth 
at  scattered  intervals.  They  wound  round  the  curving  bay 
which  the  Rhine  forms  in  that  part  of  its  course,  and  gazed 
upon  the  ruins  of  Thurmberg,  with  the  rich  gardens  that  skirt 
the  banks  below.  The  last  time  Trevylyan  had  seen  those 
ruins  soaring  against  the  sky,  the  green  foliage  at  the  foot  of 


216  THE   PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

tlie  rocks,  and  the  quiet  village  sequestered  beneath,  glassing 
its  roofs  and  solitary  tower  upon  the  wave,  it  had  been  with  a 
gay  summer  troop  of  light  friends,  who  had  paused  on  the 
opposite  shore  during  the  heats  of  noon,  and,  over  wine  and 
fruits,  had  mimicked  the  groups  of  Boccaccio,  and  intermin- 
gled the  lute,  the  jest,  the  momentary  love,  and  the  laughing 
tale. 

What  a  difference  now  in  his  thoughts,  in  the  object  of  the 
voyage,  in  his  present  companions!  The  feet  of  years  fall 
noiseless ;  we  heed,  we  note  them  not,  till  tracking  the  same 
course  we  passed  long  since,  we  are  startled  to  find  how  deep 
the  impression  they  leave  behind.  To  revisit  the  scenes  of 
our  youth  is  to  commune  with  the  ghost  of  ourselves. 

At  this  time  the  clouds  gathered  rapidly  along  the  heavens, 
and  they  were  startled  by  the  first  peal  of  the  thunder.  Sud- 
den and  swift  came  on  the  storm,  and  Trevylyan  trembled  as 
he  covered  Gertrude's  form  with  the  rude  boat-cloaks  they 
had  brought  with  them ;  the  small  vessel  began  to  rock  wildly 
to  and  fro  upon  the  waters.  High  above  them  rose  the  vast 
dismantled  ruins  of  Rheinfels,  the  lightning  darting  through 
its  shattered  casements  and  broken  arches,  and  brightening 
the  gloomy  trees  that  here  and  there  clothed  the  rocks,  and 
tossed  to  the  angry  wind.  Swift  wheeled  the  water-birds  over 
the  river,  dipping  their  plumage  in  the  white  foam,  and  utter- 
ing their  discordant  screams.  A  storm  upon  the  Rhine  has  a 
grandeur  it  is  in  vain  to  paint.  Its  rocks,  its  foliage,  the 
feudal  ruins  that  everywhere  rise  from  the  lofty  heights, 
speaking  in  characters  of  stern  decay  of  many  a  former  battle 
against  time  and  tempest;  the  broad  and  rapid  course  of  the 
legendary  river, —  all  harmonize  with  the  elementary  strife; 
and  you  feel  that  to  see  the  Rhine  only  in  the  sunshine  is  to 
be  unconscious  of  its  most  majestic  aspects.  What  baronial 
war  had  those  ruins  witnessed !  From  the  rapine  of  the  lordly 
tyrant  of  those  battlements  rose  the  first  Confederation  of  the 
Rhine, —  the  great  strife  between  the  new  time  and  the  old, 
the  town  and  the  castle,  the  citizen  and  the  chief.  Gray  and 
stern  those  ruins  breasted  the  storm, —  a  type  of  the  antique 
opinion  which  once  manned  them  with  armed  serfs;  and,  yet 


THE   PILGRIMS  OF   THE   RHINE.  217 

in  ruins  and  decay,  appeals  from  the  victorious  freedom  it 
may  no  longer  resist! 

Clasped  in  Trevylyan's  guardian  arms,  and  her  head  pil- 
lowed on  his  breast,  Gertrude  felt  nothing  of  the  storm  save 
its  grandeur;  and  Trevylyan's  voice  whispered  cheer  and  cour- 
age to  her  ear.  She  answered  by  a  smile  and  a  sigh,  but  not 
of  pain.  In  the  convulsions  of  nature  we  forget  our  own  sepa- 
rate existence,  our  schemes,  our  projects,  our  fears ;  our  dreams 
vanish  back  into  their  cells.  One  passion  only  the  storm 
quells  not,  and  the  presence  of  Love  mingles  with  the  voice 
of  the  fiercest  storms,  as  with  the  whispers  of  the  southern 
wind.  So  she  felt,  as  they  were  thus  drawn  close  together? 
and  as  she  strove  to  smile  away  the  anxious  terror  from  Trevyl- 
yan's gaze,  a  security,  a  delight;  for  peril  is  sweet  even  to 
the  fears  of  woman,  when  it  impresses  upon  her  yet  more 
vividly  that  she  is  beloved. 

''A  moment  more  and  we  reach  the  land,"  murmured 
Trevylyan. 

"I  wish  it  not,"  answered  Gertrude,  softly.  But  ere  they 
got  into  St.  Goar  the  rain  descended  in  torrents,  and  even  the 
thick  coverings  round  Gertrude's  form  were  not  sufficient  pro- 
tection against  it.  Wet  and  dripping  she  reached  the  inn; 
but  not  then,  nor  for  some  days,  was  she  sensible  of  the  shock 
her  decaying  health  had  received. 

The  storm  lasted  but  a  few  hours,  and  the  sun  afterwards 
broke  forth  so  brightly,  and  the  stream  looked  so  inviting, 
that  they  yielded  to  Gertrude's  earnest  wish,  and,  taking  a 
larger  vessel,  continued  their  course;  they  passed  along  the 
narrow  and  dangerous  defile  of  the  Gewirre,  and  the  fearful 
whirlpool  of  the  "  Bank ;  "  and  on  the  shore  to  the  left  the 
enormous  rock  of  Lurlei  rose,  huge  and  shapeless,  on  their 
gaze.  In  this  place  is  a  singular  echo,  and  one  of  the  boatmen 
wouud  a  horn,  which  produced  an  almost  supernatural  music, 
—  so  wild,  loud,  and  oft  reverberated  was  its  sound. 

The  river  now  curved  along  in  a  narrow  and  deep  channel 
amongst  rugged  steeps,  on  which  the  westering  sun  cast  long 
and  uncouth  shadows;  and  here  the  hermit,  from  whose  sacred 
name  the  town  of  St.  Goar  derived  its  own,  fixed  his  abode 


218  THE   PILGRIMS   OF    THE   RHINE. 

aud  preached  the  religion  of  the  Cross.  "  There  was  a  certain 
vastness  of  mind,"  said  Vane,  "in  the  adoption  of  utter  soli- 
tude, in  which  the  first  enthusiasts  of  our  religion  indulged. 
The  remote  desert,  the  solitary  rock,  the  rude  dwelling  hol- 
lowed from  the  cave,  the  eternal  commune  with  their  own 
hearts,  with  nature,  and  their  dreams  of  God, —  all  make  a 
picture  of  severe  and  preterhuman  grandeur.  Say  what  we 
will  of  the  necessity  and  charm  of  social  life,  there  is  a  great- 
ness about  man  when  he  dispenses  with  mankind." 

"As  to  that,"  said  Du e,  shrugging  his  shoulders,  "there 

was  probably  very  good  wine  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  the 
females'  eyes  about  Oberwesel  are  singularly  blue." 

They  now  approached  Oberwesel,  another  of  the  once  impe- 
rial towns,  and  behind  it  beheld  the  remains  of  the  castle  of 
the  illustrious  family  of  Schomberg,  the  ancestors  of  the  old 
hero  of  the  Boyne.  A  little  farther  on,  from  the  opposite 
shore,  the  castle  of  Gutenfels  rose  above  the  busy  town  of 
Kaub. 

"Another  of  those  scenes,"  said  Trevylyan,  "celebrated 
equally  by  love  and  glory,  for  the  castle's  name  is  derived 
from  that  of  the  beautiful  ladye  of  an  emperor's  passion;  and 
below,  upon  a  ridge  in  the  steep,  the  great  Gustavus  issued 
forth  his  command  to  begin  battle  with  the  Spaniards." 

"It  looks  peaceful  enough  now,"  said  Vane,  pointing  to  the 
craft  that  lay  along  the  stream,  and  the  green  trees  drooping 
over  a  curve  in  the  bank.  Beyond,  in  the  middle  of  the 
stream  itself,  stands  the  lonely  castle  of  Pfalzgrafenstein, 
sadly  memorable  as  a  prison  to  the  more  distinguished  of 
criminals.  How  many  pining  eyes  may  have  turned  from  those 
casements  to  the  vine-clad  hills  of  the  free  shore !  how  many 
indignant  hearts  have  nursed  the  deep  curses  of  hate  in  the 
dungeons  below,  and  longed  for  the  wave  that  dashed  against 
the  gray  walls  to  force  its  way  within  and  set  them  free! 

Here  the  Rhine  seems  utterly  bounded,  shrunk  into  one  of 
those  delusive  lakes  into  which  it  so  frequently  seems  to 
change  its  course;  and  as  you  proceed,  it  is  as  if  the  waters 
were  silently  overflowing  their  channel  and  forcing  their  way 
into  the  clefts  of  the  mountain  shore.     Passing  the  Werth 


THE   riLGRIMS   OF   THE   RHINE.  219 

Island  ou  one  side  and  the  castle  of  Stahleck  on  the  other,  our 
voyagers  arrived  at  Bacharach,  which,  associating  the  feudal 
recollections  with  the  classic,  takes  its  name  from  the  god  of 

the  vine;  and  as  Du e  declared  with  peculiar  emphasis, 

quaffing  a  large  goblet  of  the  peculiar  liquor,  "  richly  deserves 
the  honour!  " 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

THE     VOYAGE     TO     BINGEN.  THE     SIMPLE    INCIDENTS    IN    THIS 

TALE  EXCUSED.  THE  SITUATION  AND  CHARACTER  OF  GER- 
TRUDE.   THE  CONVERSATION  OF  THE  LOVERS  IN  THE  TEM- 
PEST.  A     FACT     CONTRADICTED.  THOUGHTS     OCCASIONED 

BY  A  MADHOUSE  AMONGST  THE  MOST  BEAUTIFUL  LAND- 
SCAPES   OF    THE    RHINE. 

The  next  day  they  again  resumed  their  voyage,  and  Ger- 
trude's spirits  were  more  cheerful  than  usual.  The  air  seemed 
to  her  lighter,  and  she  breathed  with  a  less  painful  effort; 
once  more  hope  entered  the  breast  of  Trevylyan ;  and,  as  the 
vessel  bounded  on,  their  conversation  was  steeped  in  no  som- 
bre hues.  When  Gertrude's  health  permitted,  no  temper  was 
so  gay,  yet  so  gently  gay,  as  hers;  and  now  the  naive  sportive- 
ness  of  her  remarks  called  a  smile  to  the  placid  lip  of  Vane, 
and  smoothed  the  anxious  front  of  Trevylyan  himself;  as  for 

Du e,  who  had  much  of  the  boon  companion  beneath  his 

professional  gravity,  he  broke  out  every  now  and  then  into 
snatches  of  French  songs  and  drinking  glees,  which  he  de- 
clared were  the  result  of  the  air  of  Bacharach.  Thus  con- 
versing, the  ruins  of  Furstenberg,  and  the  echoing  vale  of 
Rheindeibach,  glided  past  their  sail;  then  the  old  town  of 
Lorch,  on  the  opposite  bank  (where  the  red  wine  is  said  first 
to  have  been  made),  with  the  green  island  before  it  in  the 
water.  Winding  round,  the  stream  showed  castle  upon  castle 
alike  in  ruins,  and  built  alike  upon  scarce  accessible  steeps. 
Then  came  the  chapel  of  St.    Clements   and  the   opposing 


220  THE  PILGRIMS  OF   THE   RHIXE. 

village  of  Asmannshausen ;  the  lofty  Kossell,  built  at  the 
extremest  verge  of  the  cliff;  and  now  the  tower  of  Hatto, 
celebrated  by  Southey's  ballad,  and  the  ancient  town  of 
Bingen.  Here  they  paused  a  while  from  their  voyage,  with 
the  intention  of  visiting  more  minutely  the  Kheingau,  or  val- 
ley of  the  Ehine. 

It  must  occur  to  every  one  of  my  readers,  that,  in  undertak- 
ing, as  now,  in  these  passages  in  the  history  of  Trevylyan, 
scarcely  so  much  a  tale  as  an  episode  in  real  life,  it  is  very 
difficult  to  offer  any  interest  save  of  the  most  simple  and  un- 
exciting kind.  It  is  true  that  to  Trevylyan  every  day,  every 
hour,  had  its  incident;  but  what  are  those  incidents  to  others? 
A  cloud  in  the  sky;  a  smile  from  the  lip  of  Gertrude, —  these 
were  to  him  far  more  full  of  events  than  had  been  the  most 
varied  scenes  of  his  former  adventurous  career;  but  the  his- 
tory of  the  heart  is  not  easily  translated  into  language;  and 
the  world  will  not  readily  pause  from  its  business  to  watch 
the  alternations  in  the  cheek  of  a  dying  girl. 

In  the  immense  sum  of  human  existence  what  is  a  single 
unit?  Every  sod  on  which  we  tread  is  the  grave  of  some  former 
being;  yet  is  there  something  that  softens  without  enervating 
the  heart  in  tracing  in  the  life  of  another  those  emotions  that 
all  of  us  have  known  ourselves.  For  who  is  there  that  has 
not,  in  his  progress  through  life,  felt  all  its  ordinary  business 
arrested,  and  the  varieties  of  fate  commuted  into  one  chronicle 
of  the  affections?  Who  has  not  watched  over  the  passing 
away  of  some  being,  more  to  him  at  that  epoch  than  all  the 
world?  And  this  unit,  so  trivial  to  the  calculation  of  others, 
of  what  inestimable  value  was  it  not  to  him?  Retracing  in 
another  such  recollections,  shadowed  and  mellowed  down  by 
time,  we  feel  the  wonderful  sanctity  of  human  life,  we  feel 
what  emotions  a  single  being  can  awake;  what  a  world  of 
hope  may  be  buried  in  a  single  grave!  And  thus  we  keep 
alive  within  ourselves  the  soft  springs  of  that  morality  which 
unites  us  with  our  kind,  and  sheds  over  the  harsh  scenes  and 
turbulent  contests  of  earth  the  colouring  of  a  common  love. 

There  is  often,  too,  in  the  time  of  year  in  which  such 
thoughts  are  presented  to  us,  a  certain  harmony  with  the  feel- 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  221 

ings  they  awaken.  As  I  write  I  hear  the  last  sighs  of  the  de- 
parting suininer,  and  the  sere  and  yellow  leaf  is  visible  in  the 
green  of  nature.  But  when  this  book  goes  forth  into  the 
world,  the  year  will  have  passed  through  a  deeper  cycle  of 
decay;  and  the  first  melancholy  signs  of  winter  have  breathed 
into  the  Universal  Mind  that  sadness  which  associates  itself 
readily  with  the  memory  of  friends,  of  feelings,  that  are  no 
more.  The  seasons,  like  ourselves,  track  their  course  by 
something  of  beauty,  or  of  glory,  that  is  left  behind.  As  the 
traveller  in  the  land  of  Palestine  sees  tomb  after  tomb  rise 
before  him,  the  landmarks  of  his  way,  and  the  only  signs  of 
the  holiness  of  the  soil,  thus  Memory  wanders  over  the  most 
sacred  spots  in  its  various  world,  and  traces  them  but  by  the 
graves  of  the  Past. 

It  was  now  that  Gertrude  began  to  feel  the  shock  her  frame 
had  received  in  the  storm  upon  the  Rhine.  Cold  shiverings 
frequently  seized  her;  her  cough  became  more  hollow,  and 
her  form  trembled  at  the  slightest  breeze. 

Vane  grew  seriously  alarmed;  he  repented  that  he  had 
yielded  to  Gertrude's  wish  of  substituting  the  Rhine  for  the 
Tiber  or  the  Arno;  and  would  even  now  have  hurried  across 

the  Alps  to  a  warmer  clime,  if  Du e  had  not  declared  that 

she  could  not  survive  the  journey,  and  that  her  sole  chance  of 
regaining  her  strength  was  rest.  Gertrude  herself,  however, 
in  the  continued  delusion  of  her  disease,  clung  to  the  belief  of 
recovery,  and  still  supported  the  hopes  of  her  father,  and 
soothed,  with  secret  talk  of  the  future,  the  anguish  of  her 
betrothed.  The  reader  may  remember  that  in  the  most  touch- 
ing passage  in  the  ancient  tragedians,  the  most  pathetic  part 
of  the  most  pathetic  of  human  poets  —  the  pleading  speech  of 
Iphigenia,  when  imploring  for  her  prolonged  life,  she  im- 
presses you  with  so  soft  a  picture  of  its  innocence  and  its 
beauty,  and  in  this  Gertrude  resembled  the  Greek's  creation 
—  that  she  felt,  on  the  verge  of  death,  all  the  flush,  the  glow, 
the  loveliness  of  life.  Her  youth  was  filled  with  hope  and 
many-coloured  dreams;  she  loved,  and  the  hues  of  morning 
slept  upon  the  yet  disenchanted  earth.  The  heavens  to  her 
were  not  as  the  common  sky;  the  wave  had  its  peculiar  music 


222  THE   PILGRIMS  OF   THE   RHINE. 

to  her  ear,  and  the  rustling  leaves  a  pleasantness  that  none 
whose  heart  is  not  bathed  in  the  love  and  sense  of  beauty 
could  discern.  Therefore  it  was,  in  future  years,  a  thought 
of  deep  gratitude  to  Trevylyan  that  she  was  so  little  sensible 
of  her  danger;  that  the  landscape  caught  not  the  gloom  of  the 
grave ;  and  that,  in  the  Greek  phrase,  "  death  found  her  sleep- 
ing amongst  flowers." 

At  the  end  of  a  few  days,  another  of  those  sudden  turns, 
common  to  her  malady,  occurred  in  Gertrude's  health;  her 
youth  and  her  happiness  rallied  against  the  encroaching 
tyrant,  and  for  the  ensuing  fortnight  she  seemed  once  more 
within  the  bounds  of  hope.  During  this  time  they  made  sev- 
eral excursions  into  the  Rheingau,  and  finished  their  tour  at 
the  ancient  Heidelberg. 

One  morning,  in  these  excursions,  after  threading  the  wood 
of  Niederwald,  they  gained  that  small  and  fairy  temple, 
which  hanging  lightly  over  the  mountain's  brow,  commands 
one  of  the  noblest  landscapes  of  earth.  There,  seated  side  by 
side,  the  lovers  looked  over  the  beautiful  world  below ;  far  to 
the  left  lay  the  happy  islets,  in  the  embrace  of  the  Ehine,  as  it 
wound  along  the  low  and  curving  meadows  that  stretch  away 
towards  Nieder-Ingelheim  and  Mayence.  Glistening  in  the 
distance,  the  opposite  Nah  swept  by  the  Mause  tower,  and  the 
ruins  of  Klopp,  crowning  the  ancient  Bingen,  into  the  mother 
tide.  There,  on  either  side  the  town,  were  the  mountains  of 
St.  Roch  and  Rupert,  with  some  old  monastic  ruin  saddening 
in  the  sun.  But  nearer,  below  the  temple,  contrasting  all  the 
other  features  of  landscape,  yawned  a  dark  and  rugged  gulf, 
girt  by  cragged  elms  and  mouldering  towers,  the  very  prototype 
of  the  abyss  of  time, —  black  and  fathomless  amidst  ruin  and 
desolation. 

"I  think  sometimes,"  said  Gertrude,  "as  in  scenes  like 
these  we  sit  together,  and  rapt  from  the  actual  world,  see 
only  the  enchantment  that  distance  lends  to  our  view, —  I 
think  sometimes  what  pleasure  it  will  be  hereafter  to  recall 
these  hours.  If  ever  you  should  love  me  less,  I  need  only 
whisper  to  you,  'The  Rhine,'  and  will  not  all  the  feelings  you 
have  now  for  me  return?  " 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE   RHIXE.  223 

"  Ah,  there  will  never  be  occasion  to  recall  my  love  for  you, 
—  it  can  never  decay." 

" What  a  strange  thing  is  life!"  said  Gertrude;  "how  un- 
connected, how  desultory  seem  all  its  links!  Has  this  sweet 
pause  from  trouble,  from  the  ordinary  cares  of  life  —  has  it 
anything  in  common  with  your  past  career,  with  your  future? 
You  will  go  into  the  great  world;  in  a  few  years  hence  these 
moments  of  leisure  and  musing  will  be  denied  to  you.  The 
action  that  you  love  and  court  is  a  jealous  sphere, —  it  allows 
no  wandering,  no  repose.  These  moments  will  then  seem  to 
you  but  as  yonder  islands  that  stud  the  Khine, —  the  stream 
lingers  by  them  for  a  moment,  and  then  hurries  on  in  its  rapid 
course;  they  vary,  but  they  do  not  interrupt  the  tide." 

"You  are  fanciful,  my  Gertrude;  but  your  simile  might  be 
juster.  Kather  let  these  banks  be  as  our  lives,  and  this  river 
the  one  thought  that  flows  eternally  by  both,  blessing  each 
with  undying  freshness." 

Gertrude  smiled;  and,  as  Trevylyan's  arm  encircled  her, 
she  sank  her  beautiful  face  upon  his  bosom,  he  covered  it  with 
his  kisses,  and  she  thought  at  the  moment,  that,  even  had  she 
passed  death,  that  embrace  could  have  recalled  her  to  life. 

They  pursued  their  course  to  Mayence,  partly  by  land, 
partly  along  the  river.  One  day,  as  returning  from  the  vine- 
clad  mountains  of  Johannisberg,  which  commands  the  whole 
of  the  Rheingau,  the  most  beautiful  valley  in  the  world,  they 
proceeded  by  water  to  the  town  of  Ellfeld,  Gertrude  said, — 

"  There  is  a  thought  in  your  favourite  poet  which  you  have 
often  repeated,  and  which  I  cannot  think  true,  — 

" '  In  nature  there  is  nothing  melancholy.' 

To  me,  it  seems  as  if  a  certain  melancholy  were  inseparable 
from  beauty ;  in  the  sunniest  noon  there  is  a  sense  of  solitude 
and  stillness  which  pervades  the  landscape,  and  even  in  the 
flush  of  life  inspires  us  with  a  musing  and  tender  sadness. 
Why  is  this?" 

"I  cannot  tell,"  said  Trevylyan,  mournfully;  "but  I  allow 
that  it  is  true." 

"It  is  as  if,"  continued  the  romantic  Gertrude,  "the  spirit 


224  THE  PILGRIMS   OF   THE  RHIXE. 

of  the  world  spoke  to  us  in  the  silence,  and  filled  us  with  a 
sense  of  our  mortality, —  a  whisper  from  the  religion  that  be- 
longs to  nature,  and  is  ever  seeking  to  unite  the  earth  with  the 
reminiscences  of  Heaven.  Ah,  what  without  a  heaven  would 
be  even  love !  —  a  perpetual  terror  of  the  separation  that  must 
one  day  come!  If,"  she  resumed  solemnly,  after  a  momen- 
tary pause,  and  a  shadow  settled  on  her  young  face,  "  if  it  be 
true,  Albert,  that  I  must  leave  you  soon  —  " 

"It  cannot!  it  cannot!"  cried  Trevylyan,  wildly;  "be  still, 
be  silent,  I  beseech  you." 

"  Look  yonder, "  said  Du e,  breaking  seasonably  in  upon 

the  conversation  of  the  lovers;  "on  that  hill  to  the  left,  what 
once  was  an  abbey  is  now  an  asylum  for  the  insane.  Does  it 
not  seem  a  quiet  and  serene  abode  for  the  unstruug  and  erring 
minds  that  tenant  it?  What  a  mystery  is  there  in  our  con- 
formation!—  those  strange  and  bewildered  fancies  which  re- 
place our  solid  reason,  what  a  moral  of  our  human  weakness 
do  they  breathe !  " 

It  does  indeed  induce  a  dark  and  singular  train  of  thought, 
when,  in  the  midst  of  these  lovely  scenes,  we  chance  upon  this 
lone  retreat  for  those  on  whose  eyes  Xature,  perhaps,  smiles 
in  vain.  Or  is  it  in  vain  ?  They  look  down  upon  the  broad 
Rhine,  with  its  tranquil  isles:  do  their  wild  delusions  endow 
the  river  with  another  name,  and  people  the  valleys  with  no 
living  shapes?  Does  the  broken  mirror  within  reflect  back 
the  countenance  of  real  things,  or  shadows  and  shapes,  crossed, 
mingled,  and  bewildered, —  the  phantasma  of  a  sick  man's 
dreams?  Yet,  perchance,  one  memory  unscathed  by  the  gen- 
eral ruin  of  the  brain  can  make  even  the  beautiful  Rhine  more 
beautiful  than  it  is  to  the  common  eye ;  can  calm  it  with  the 
hues  of  departed  love,  and  bids  its  possessor  walk  over  its 
vine-clad  mountains  with  the  beings  that  have  ceased  to  be  ! 
There,  perhaps,  the  self-made  monarch  sits  upon  his  throne 
and  claims  the  vessels  as  his  fleet,  the  waves  and  the  valleys 
as  his  own;  there,  the  enthusiast,  blasted  by  the  light  of  some 
imaginary  creed,  beholds  the  shapes  of  angels,  and  watches  in 
the  clouds  round  the  setting  sun  the  pavilions  of  God ;  there 
the  victim  of  forsaken  or  perished  love,  mightier  than  the  sor- 


THE   riLGRIMS  OF   THE  RIIIXE.  225 

cerers  of  old,  evokes  the  dead,  or  recalls  the  faithless  by  the 
philter  of  undying  fancies.  Ah,  blessed  art  thou,  the  winged 
power  of  Imagination  that  is  within  us !  conquering  even  grief, 
brightening  even  despair.  Thou  takest  us  from  the  world 
when  reason  can  no  longer  bind  us  to  it,  and  givest  to  the 
maniac  the  inspiration  and  the  solace  of  the  bard!  Thou,  the 
parent  of  the  purer  love,  lingerest  like  love,  when  even  our- 
self  forsakes  us,  and  lightest  up  the  shattered  chambers  of  the 
heart  with  the  glory  that  makes  a  sanctity  of  decay. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

ELLFELD.  MAYENCE.  HEIDELBERG.  A    CONVERSATION    BE- 
TWEEN    VANE     AND     THE     GERMAN     STUDENT.  THE     RUINS 

OF      THE      CASTLE      OF      HEIDELBERG      AND      ITS      SOLITARY 
HABITANT. 

It  was  now  the  full  noon;  light  clouds  were  bearing  up 
towards  the  opposite  banks  of  the  Ehine,  but  over  the  Gothic 
towers  of  Ellfeld  the  sky  spread  blue  and  clear;  the  river 
danced  beside  the  old  gray  walls  with  a  sunny  wave,  and 
close  at  hand  a  vessel  crowded  with  passengers,  and  loud  with 
eager  voices,  gave  a  merry  life  to  the  scene.  On  the  opposite 
bank  the  hills  sloped  away  into  the  far  horizon,  and  one  slight 
skiff  in  the  midst  of  the  waters  broke  the  solitary  brightness 
of  the  noonday  calm. 

The  town  of  Ellfeld  was  the  gift  of  Otho  the  First  to  the 
Church;  not  far  from  thence  is  the  crystal  spring  that  gives 
its  name  to  the  delicious  grape  of  Markbrunner. 

"Ah,"  quoth  Du e,  "doubtless  the  good  bishops  of  May- 

ence  made  the  best  of  the  vicinity !  " 

They  stayed  some  little  time  at  tliis  town,  and  visited  the 
ruins  of  Scharfenstein;  thence  proceeding  up  the  river,  they 
passed  Nieder  Walluf,  called  the  Gate  of  the  Rheingau,  and 
the  luxuriant  garden  of  Schierstein;   thence,  sailing  by  the 

15 


226  THE   PILGRIMS   OF   THE   RHINE. 

castle-seat  of  the  Prince  Nassau  Usingen,  and  passing  two 
long  and  narrow  isles,  they  arrived  at  Mayence,  as  the  sun 
shot  his  last  rays  upon  the  waters,  gilding  the  proud  cathe- 
dral-spire, and  breaking  the  mists  that  began  to  gather  be- 
hind, over  the  rocks  of  the  Rheingau.  * 

Ever  memorable  Mayence, —  memorable  alike  for  freedom 
and  for  song,  within  those  walls  how  often  woke  the  gallant 
music  of  the  Troubadour;  and  how  often  beside  that  river  did 
the  heart  of  the  maiden  tremble  to  the  lay!  Within  those 
walls  the  stout  Walpoden  first  broached  the  great  scheme  of 
the  Hanseatic  league;  and,  more  than  all,  0  memorable  May- 
ence, thou  canst  claim  the  first  invention  of  the  mightiest  en- 
gine of  human  intellect, —  the  great  leveller  of  power,  the 
Demiurgus  of  the  moral  world, —  the  Press!  Here  too  lived 
the  maligned  hero  of  the  greatest  drama  of  modern  genius, 
the  traditionary  Faust,  illustrating  in  himself  the  fate  of  his 
successors  in  dispensing  knowledge, — held  a  monster  for  his 
wisdom,  and  consigned  to  the  penalties  of  hell  as  a  recom- 
pense for  the  benefits  he  had  conferred  on  earth! 

At  Mayence,  Gertrude  heard  so  much  and  so  constantly  of 
Heidelberg,  that  she  grew  impatient  to  visit  that  enchanting 

town;  and  as  Du e  considered  the  air  of  Heidelberg  more 

pure  and  invigorating  than  that  of  Mayence,  they  resolved  to 
fix  within  it  their  temporary  residence,  Alas!  it  was  the 
place  destined  to  close  their  brief  and  melancholy  pilgrimage, 
and  to  become  to  the  heart  of  Trevylyan  the  holiest  spot 
which  the  earth  contained, —  the  Kaaba  of  the  world.  But 
Gertrude,  unconscious  of  her  fate,  conversed  gayly  as  their 
carriage  rolled  rapidly  on,  and,  constantly  alive  to  every  new 
sensation,  she  touched  with  her  characteristic  vivacity  on  all 
that  they  had  seen  in  their  previous  route.  There  is  a  great 
charm  in  the  observations  of  one  new  to  the  world ;  if  we  our- 
selves have  become  somewhat  tired  of  "its  hack  sights  and 
sounds,"  we  hear  in  their  freshness  a  voice  from  our  own 
youth. 

In  the  haunted  valley  of  the  Neckar,  the  most  crystal  of 
rivers,  stands  the  town  of  Heidelberg.  The  shades  of  even- 
ing gathered  round  it  as  their  heavy  carriage  rattled  along  the 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  227 

antique  streets,  and  not  till  the  next  day  was  Gertrude  aware 
of  all  the  unrivalled  beauties  that  environ  the  place. 

Vane,  who  was  an  early  riser,  went  forth  alone  in  the 
morning  to  reconnoitre  the  town;  and  as  he  was  gazing  on 
the  tower  of  St.  Peter,  he  heard  himself  suddenly  accosted. 
He  turned  round  and  saw  the  German  student  whom  they  had 
met  among  the  mountains  of  Taunus  at  his  elbow. 

"Monsieur  has  chosen  well  in  coming  hither,"  said  the  stu- 
dent; "and  I  trust  our  town  will  not  disappoint  his  ex- 
pectations." Vane  answered  with  courtesy,  and  the  German 
offering  to  accompany  him  in  his  walk,  their  conversation  fell 
naturally  on  the  life  of  a  university,  and  the  current  educa- 
tion of  the  German  people. 

"It  is  surprising,"  said  the  student,  "that  men  are  eternally 
inventing  new  systems  of  education,  and  yet  persevering  in 
the  old.  How  man}'  years  ago  is  it  since  Fichte  predicted  in 
the  system  of  Pestalozzi  the  regeneration  of  the  German 
people?  What  has  it  done?  We  admire,  we  praise,  and  we 
blunder  on  in  the  very  course  Pestalozzi  proves  to  be  erro- 
neous. Certainly,"  continued  the  student,  "there  must  be 
some  radical  defect  in  a  system  of  culture  in  which  genius  is 
an  exception,  and  dulness  the  result.  Yet  here,  in  our  German 
universities,  everything  proves  that  education  without  equita- 
ble institutions  avails  little  in  the  general  formation  of  char- 
acter. Here  the  young  men  of  the  colleges  mix  on  the  most 
equal  terms ;  they  are  daring,  romantic,  enamoured  of  freedom 
even  to  its  madness.  They  leave  the  University:  no  political 
career  continues  the  train  of  mind  they  had  acquired;  they 
plunge  into  obscurity;  live  scattered  and  separate,  and  the 
student  inebriated  with  Schiller  sinks  into  the  passive  priest 
or  the  lethargic  baron.  His  college  career,  so  far  from  indi- 
cating his  future  life,  exactly  reverses  it:  he  is  brought  up  in 
one  course  in  order  to  proceed  in  another.  And  this  I  hold  to 
be  the  universal  error  of  education  in  all  countries ;  they  con- 
ceive it  a  certain  something  to  be  finished  at  a  certain  age. 
They  do  not  make  it  a  part  of  the  continuous  history  of  life, 
but  a  wandering  from  it." 

"You  have  been  in  England?  "  asked  Vane. 


228  THE   PILGRIMS   OF   THE   RHINE. 

"  Yes ;  I  have  travelled  over  nearly  the  whole  of  it  on  foot. 
1  was  poor  at  that  time,  and  imagining  there  was  a  sort  of 
masonry  between  all  men  of  letters,  I  inquired  at  each  town 
for  the  savants,  and  asked  money  of  them  as  a  matter  of 
course." 

Vane  almost  laughed  outright  at  the  simplicity  and  naive 
unconsciousness  of  degradation  with  which  the  student  pro- 
claimed himself  a  public  beggar. 

"  Aud  how  did  you  generally  succeed?  " 

"  In  most  cases  I  was  threatened  with  the  stocks,  and  twice 
I  was  consigned  by  the  juge  de  paix  to  the  village  police,  to 
be  passed  to  some  mystic  Mecca  they  were  pleased  to  entitle 
'a  parish. '  Ah  "  (continued  the  German  with  much  bonhomie), 
"  it  was  a  pity  to  see  in  a  great  nation  so  much  value  attached 
to  such  a  trifle  as  money.  But  what  surprised  me  greatly  was 
the  tone  of  your  poetry.  Madame  de  Stael,  who  knew  per- 
haps as  much  of  England  as  she  did  of  Germany,  tells  us  that 
its  chief  character  is  the  chivalresque ;  and,  excepting  only 
Scott,  who,  by  the  way,  is  not  English,  I  did  not  find  one 
chivalrous  poet  among  you.  Yet,"  continued  the  student, 
"  between  ourselves,  I  fancy  that  in  our  present  age  of  civiliza- 
tion, there  is  an  unexamined  mistake  in  the  general  mind  as 
to  the  value  of  poetry.  It  delights  still  as  ever,  but  it  has 
ceased  to  teach.  The  prose  of  the  heart  enlightens,  touches, 
rouses,  far  more  than  poetry.  Your  most  philosophical  poets 
would  be  commonplace  if  turned  into  prose.  Verse  cannot 
contain  the  refining  subtle  thoughts  which  a  great  prose  writer 
embodies;  the  rhyme  eternally  cripples  it;  it  properly  deals 
with  the  common  problems  of  human  nature,  which  are  now 
hackneyed,  and  not  with  the  nice  and  philosophizing  corolla- 
ries which  may  be  drawn  from  them.  Thus,  though  it  would 
seem  at  first  a  paradox,  commonplace  is  more  the  element  of 
poetry  than  of  prose." 

This  sentiment  charmed  Vane,  who  had  nothing  of  the  poet 
about  him;  and  he  took  the  student  to  share  their  breakfast 
at  the  inn,  with  a  complacency  he  rarely  experienced  at  the 
remeeting  with  a  new  acquaintance. 

After   breakfast,    our   party   proceeded   through   the   town 


THE   PILGRIMS   OF  THE   RHINE.  229 

towards  the  wonderful  castle  which  is  its  chief  attraction, 
and  the  noblest  wreck  of  German  grandeur. 

And  now  pausing,  the  mountain  yet  unsealed,  the  stately 
ruin  frowned  upon  them,  girt  by  its  massive  walls  and  hang- 
ing terraces,  round  which  from  place  to  place  clung  the 
dwarfed  and  various  foliage.  High  at  the  rear  rose  the  huge 
mountain,  covered,  save  at  its  extreme  summit,  with  dark 
trees,  and  concealing  in  its  mysterious  breast  the  shadowy  be- 
ings of  the  legendary  world.  But  towards  the  ruins,  and  up 
a  steep  ascent,  you  may  see  a  few  scattered  sheep  thinly  stud- 
ding the  broken  ground.  Aloft,  above  the  ramparts,  rose, 
desolate  and  huge,  the  Palace  of  the  Electors  of  the  Palati- 
nate. In  its  broken  walls  you  may  trace  the  tokens  of  the 
lightning  that  blasted  its  ancient  pomp,  but  still  leaves  in  the 
vast  extent  of  pile  a  fitting  monument  of  the  memory  of  Char- 
lemagne. Below,  in  the  distance,  spread  the  plain  far  and 
spacious,  till  the  shadowy  river,  with  one  solitary  sail  upon 
its  breast,  united  the  melancholy  scene  of  earth  with  the 
autumnal  sky. 

"  See, "  said  Vane,  pointing  to  two  peasants  who  were  con- 
versing near  them  on  the  matters  of  their  little  trade,  utterly 
unconscious  of  the  associations  of  the  spot,  "see,  after  all 
that  is  said  and  done  about  human  greatness,  it  is  always  the 
greatness  of  the  few.  Ages  pass,  and  leave  the  poor  herd, 
the  mass  of  men,  eternally  the  same, —  hewers  of  wood  and 
drawers  of  water.  The  pomp  of  princes  has  its  ebb  and  flow, 
but  the  peasant  sells  his  fruit  as  gayly  to  the  stranger  on  the 
ruins  as  to  the  emperor  in  the  palace." 

"Will  it  be  always  so?  "  said  the  student. 

"Let  us  hope  not,  for  the  sake  of  permanence  in  glory," 
said  Trevylyan.  "Had  a  people  built  yonder  palace,  its 
splendour  would  never  have  passed  away." 

Vane  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  Du e  took  snuff. 

But  all  the  impressions  produced  by  the  castle  at  a  distance 
are  as  nothing  when  you  stand  within  its  vast  area  and  behold 
the  architecture  of  all  ages  blended  into  one  mighty  ruin! 
The  rich  hues  of  the  masonry,  the  sweeping  facades  —  every 
description  of  building  which  man  ever  framed  for  war  or  for 


230  THE   PILGRIMS   OF   THE   RHINE. 

luxury  —  is  here;  all  having  only  the  common  character, — 
iiuiN.  The  feudal  rampart,  the  yawning  fosse,  the  rude 
tower,  the  splendid  arch,  the  strength  of  a  fortress,  the  mag- 
nificence of  a  palace, —  all  united,  strike  upon  the  soul  like 
the  history  of  a  fallen  empire  in  all  its  epochs. 

"There  is  one  singular  habitant  of  these  ruins,"  said  the 
student, —  "a  solitary  painter,  who  has  dwelt  here  some 
twenty  years,  companioned  only  by  his  Art.  No  other  apart- 
ment but  that  which  he  tenants  is  occupied  by  a  human 
being." 

"What  a  poetical  existence!"  cried  Gertrude,  enchanted 
with  a  solitude  so  full  of  associations. 

"Perhaps  so,"  said  the  cruel  Vane,  ever  anxious  to  dispel 
an  illusion,  "but  more  probably  custom  has  deadened  to  him 
all  that  overpowers  ourselves  with  awe;  and  he  may  tread 
among  these  ruins  rather  seeking  to  pick  up  some  rude  morsel 
of  antiquity,  than  feeding  his  imagination  with  the  dim  tradi- 
tions that  invest  them  with  so  august  a  poetry." 

"Monsieur's  conjecture  has  something  of  the  truth  in  it," 
said  the  German;  "but  then  the  painter  is  a  Frenchman." 

There  is  a  sense  of  fatality  in  the  singular  mournfulness 
and  majesty  which  belong  to  the  ruins  of  Heidelberg,  con- 
trasting the  vastness  of  the  strength  with  the  utterness  of  the 
ruin.  It  has  been  twice  struck  with  lightning,  and  is  the 
wreck  of  the  elements,  not  of  man;  during  the  great  siege  it 
sustained,  the  lightning  is  supposed  to  have  struck  the  powder 
magazine  by  accident. 

What  a  scene  for  some  great  imaginative  work!  What  a 
mocking  interference  of  the  wrath  of  nature  in  the  puny  con- 
tests of  men !  One  stroke  of  "  the  red  right  arm  "  above  us, 
crushing  the  triumph  of  ages,  and  laughing  to  scorn  the  power 
of  the  beleaguers  and  the  valour  of  the  besieged! 

They  passed  the  whole  day  among  these  stupendous  ruins, 
and  felt,  when  they  descended  to  their  inn,  as  if  they  had  left 
the  caverns  of  some  mighty  tomb. 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF   THE  RHINE.  231 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

NO     PART    OF    THE    EAKTH    REALLY    SOLITARY.  THE    SONG    OF 

THE    FAIRIES.  THE    SACRED    SPOT.  THE    WITCH    OF    THE 

EVIL      WINDS.  THE      SPELL       AND       THE       DUTY      OF      THE 

FAIRIES. 

But  in  what  spot  of  the  world  is  there  ever  utter  solitude? 
The  vanity  of  man  supposes  that  loneliness  is  his  absence! 
Who  shall  say  what  millions  of  spiritual  beings  glide  invisibly 
among  scenes  apparently  the  most  deserted?  Or  what  know 
we  of  our  own  mechanism,  that  we  should  deny  the  possi- 
bility of  life  and  motion  to  things  that  we  cannot  ourselves 
recognize? 

At  moonlight,  in  the  Great  Court  of  Heidelberg,  on  the  bor- 
ders of  the  shattered  basin  overgrown  with  weeds,  the  follow- 
ing song  was  heard  by  the  melancholy  shades  that  roam  at 
night  through  the  mouldering  halls  of  old,  and  the  gloomy 
hollows  in  the  mountain  of  Heidelberg. 

SONG  OF  THE  FAIRIES  IN  THE  RUINS  OF  HEIDELBERG. 

From  the  woods  and  the  glossy  green. 

With  the  wild  thyme  strewn  ; 
From  the  rivers  whose  crisped  sheen 

Is  kissed  bj'  the  trembling  moon  ; 
While  the  dwarf  looks  out  from  his  mountain  cave, 

And  the  erl  king  from  his  lair, 
And  the  water-nymph  from  her  moaning  wave, 

We  skirr  the  limber  air. 

There  's  a  smile  on  the  vine-clad  shore, 

A  smile  on  the  castled  heights  ; 
They  dream  back  the  days  of  yore, 

And  they  smile  at  our  roundel  rites ! 
Our  roundel  ritea ! 


232  THE  PILGRIMS   OF   THE   RHINE. 

Lightly  we  tread  these  halb  arouud, 

Lightly  tread  we ; 
Yet,  hark  !   we  have  scared  with  a  single  sound 
The  moping  owl  on  the  breathless  tree, 
And  the  goblin  sprites  ! 
Ha,  ha !  we  have  scared  with  a  single  sound 
The  old  gray  owl  on  the  breathless  tree, 
And  the  goblin  sprites ! 


"They  come  not,"  said  Pipalee;  "yet  the  banquet  is  pre- 
pared, and  the  poor  queen  will  be  glad  of  some  refreshment," 

"What  a  pity!  all  the  rose-leaves  will  be  over-broiled," 
said  Nip. 

"Let  us  amuse  ourselves  with  the  old  painter,"  quoth  Trip, 
springing  over  the  ruins. 

"Well  said,"  cried  Pipalee  and  Nip;  and  all  three,  leaving 
my  lord-treasurer  amazed  at  their  levity,  whisked  into  the 
painter's  apartment.  Permitting  them  to  throw  the  ink  over 
their  victim's  papers,  break  his  pencils,  mix  his  colours,  mis- 
lay his  nightcap,  and  go  whiz  against  his  face  in  the  shape  of 
a  great  bat,  till  the  astonished  Frenchman  began  to  think  the 
pensive  goblins  of  the  place  had  taken  a  sprightly  fit, —  we 
hasten  to  a  small  green  spot  some  little  way  from  the  town, 
in  the  valley  of  the  Neckar,  and  by  the  banks  of  its  silver 
stream.  It  was  circled  round  by  dark  trees,  save  on  that  side 
bordered  by  the  river.  The  wild-flowers  sprang  profusely 
from  the  turf,  which  yet  was  smooth  and  singularly  green. 
And  there  was  the  German  fairy  describing  a  circle  round  the 
spot,  and  making  his  elvish  spells ;  and  Nymphalin  sat  droop- 
iugly  in  the  centre,  shading  her  face,  which  was  bowed  down 
as  the  head  of  a  water-lily,  and  weeping  crystal  tears. 

There  came  a  hollow  murmur  through  the  trees,  and  a  rush 
as  of  a  mighty  wind,  and  a  dark  form  emerged  from  the  shadow 
and  approached  the  spot. 

The  face  was  wrinkled  and  old,  and  stern  with  a  malevolent 
and  evil  aspect.  The  frame  was  lean  and  gaunt,  and  sup- 
ported by  a  staff,  and  a  short  gray  mantle  covered  its  bended 
shoulders. 

"Things  of  the  moonbeam!  "   said  the  form,  in  a  shrill  and 


THE   PILGRIMS  OF   THE  RHINE.  233 

ghastly  voice,  "  what  want  ye  here ;  and  why  charm  ye  this 
spot  from  the  coming  of  me  and  mine?" 

"Dark  witch  of  tlie  blight  and  blast,"  answered  the  fairy, 
"  THOU  that  nippest  the  herb  in  its  tender  youth,  and  eatest 
up  the  core  of  the  soft  bud ;  behold,  it  is  but  a  small  spot  that 
the  fairies  claim  from  thy  demesnes,  and  on  which,  through 
frost  and  heat,  they  will  keep  the  herbage  green  and  the  air 
gentle  in  its  sighs !  " 

"And,  wherefore,  0  dweller  in  the  crevices  of  the  earth, 
wherefore  wouldst  thou  guard  this  spot  from  the  curses  of  the 
seasons?  " 

"  We  know  by  our  instinct, "  answered  the  fairy,  "  that  this 
spot  will  become  the  grave  of  one  whom  the  fairies  love; 
hither,  by  an  unfelt  influence,  shall  we  guide  her  yet  living 
steps;  and  in  gazing  upon  this  spot  shall  the  desire  of  quiet 
and  the  resignation  to  death  steal  upon  her  soul.  Behold, 
throughout  the  universe,  all  things  ara  at  war  with  one  an- 
other,—  the  lion  with  the  lamb;  the  serpent  with  the  bird; 
and  even  the  gentlest  bird  itself  with  the  moth  of  the  air,  or 
the  worm  of  the  humble  earth!  What  then  to  men,  and  to 
the  spirits  transcending  men,  is  so  lovely  and  so  sacred  as  a 
being  that  harmeth  none;  what  so  beautiful  as  Innocence; 
what  so  mournful  as  its  untimely  tomb?  And  shall  not  that 
tomb  be  sacred;  shall  it  not  be  our  peculiar  care?  May  we 
not  mourn  over  it  as  at  the  passing  away  of  some  fair  miracle 
in  ^Nature,  too  tender  to  endure,  too  rare  to  be  forgotten?  It 
is  for  this,  0  dread  waker  of  the  blast,  that  the  fairies  would 
consecrate  this  little  spot;  for  this  they  would  charm  away 
from  its  tranquil  turf  the  wandering  ghoul  and  the  evil  chil- 
dren of  the  night.  Here,  not  the  ill-omened  owl,  nor  the 
blind  bat,  nor  the  unclean  worm  shall  come.  And  thou 
shouldst  have  neither  will  nor  power  to  nip  the  flowers  of 
spring,  nor  sear  the  green  herbs  of  summer.  Is  it  not,  dark 
mother  of  the  evil  winds, —  is  it  not  onr  immemorial  ofSce  to 
tend  the  grave  of  Innocence,  and  keep  fresh  the  flowers  round 
the  resting-place  of  Virgin  Love?  " 

Then  the  witch  drew  her  cloak  round  her,  and  muttered  to 
herself,  and  without  further  answer  turned  away  among  the 


234  THE   PILGRIMS   OF   THE   RHINE. 

trees  and  vanished,  as  the  breath  of  the  east  wind,  which 
goeth  with  her  as  her  comrade,  scattered  the  melancholy 
leaves  along  her  path! 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

GERTRUDE  AND  TREVYLVAN,  WHEN  THE  FORMER  IS  AWAK- 
ENED TO  THE  APPROACH  OF  DEATH. 

The  next  day,  Gertrude  and  her  companions  went  along  the 
banks  of  the  haunted  Neckar.  She  had  passed  a  sleepless  and 
painful  night,  and  her  evanescent  and  childlike  spirits  had 
sobered  down  into  a  melancholy  and  thoughtful  mood.  She 
leaned  back  in  an  open  carriage  with  Trevylyan,  ever  con- 
stant, by  her  side,  while  Du e  and  Vane  rode  slowly  in 

advance.  Trevylyan  tried  in  vain  to  cheer  her;  even  his  at- 
tempts (usually  so  eagerly  received)  to  charm  her  duller  mo- 
ments by  tale  or  legend  were,  in  this  instance,  fruitless. 
She  shook  her  head  gently,  pressed  his  hand,  and  said,  "No, 
dear  Trevylyan,  no;  even  your  art  fails  to-day,  but  your  kind- 
ness never!  "  and  pressing  his  hand  to  her  lips,  she  burst  pas- 
sionately into  tears. 

Alarmed  and  anxious,  he  clasped  her  to  his  breast,  and 
strove  to  lift  her  face,  as  it  drooped  on  its  resting-place,  and 
kiss  away  its  tears.  "Oh,"  said  she,  at  length,  "do  not  des- 
pise my  weakness;  I  am  overcome  by  my  own  thoughts:  I 
look  upon  the  world,  and  see  that  it  is  fair  and  good;  I  look 
upon  you,  and  I  see  all  that  I  can  venerate  and  adore.  Life 
seems  to  me  so  sweet,  and  the  earth  so  lovely ;  can  you  won- 
der, then,  that  I  should  shrink  at  the  thought  of  death?  Nay, 
interrupt  me  not,  dear  Albert;  the  thought  must  be  borne  and 
braved.  I  have  not  cherished,  I  have  not  yielded  to  it  through 
my  long-increasing  illness ;  but  there  have  been  times  when  it 
has  forced  itself  upon  me,  and  now,  nmr  more  palpably  than 
ever.     Do  not  think  me  weak  and  childish.     I  never  feared 


THE   PILGRIMS   OF   THE   RHINE.  235 

death  till  I  knew  you;  but  to  see  you  no  more, —  never  again 
to  touch  this  dear  hand,  never  to  thank  you  for  your  love, 
never  to  be  sensible  of  your  care, —  to  lie  down  and  sleep,  and 
never,  never,  once  more  to  dream  of  you  !  Ah,  that  is  a  bitter 
thoughtl  but  I  will  brave  it, —  yes,  brave  it  as  one  worthy  of 
your  regard." 

Trevylyan,  choked  by  his  emotions,  covered  his  own  face 
with  his  hands,  and,  leaning  back  in  the  carriage,  vainly 
struggled  with  his  sobs. 

"Perhaps,"  she  said,  yet  ever  and  anon  clinging  to  the  hope 
that  had  utterly  abandoned  him,  "  perhaps,  T  may  yet  deceive 
myself;  and  my  love  for  you,  which  seems  to  me  as  if  it  could 
conquer  death,  may  bear  me  up  against  this  fell  disease.  The 
hope  to  live  with  you,  to  watch  you,  to  share  your  high 
dreams,  and  oh!  above  all,  to  soothe  you  in  sorrow  and  sick- 
ness, as  you  have  soothed  me  —  has  not  that  hope  something 
that  may  support  even  this  sinking  frame?  And  who  shall 
love  thee  as  I  love;  who  see  thee  as  I  have  seen;  who  pray 
for  thee  in  gratitude  and  tears  as  I  have  prayed?  Oh,  Albert, 
so  little  am  I  jealous  of  you,  so  little  do  I  think  of  myself  in 
comparison,  that  I  could  close  my  eyes  happily  on  the  world 
if  I  knew  that  what  I  could  be  to  thee  another  will  be ! " 

"Gertrude,"  said  Trevylyan,  and  lifting  up  his  colourless 
face,  he  gazed  upon  her  with  an  earnest  and  calm  solemnity, 
"  Gertrude,  let  us  be  united  at  once !  If  Fate  must  sever  us, 
let  her  cut  the  last  tie  too;  let  us  feel  that  at  least  upon  earth 
we  have  been  all  in  all  to  each  other;  let  us  defy  death,  even 
as  it  frowns  upon  us.  Be  mine  to-morrow  —  this  day  —  oh, 
God!  be  mine!  " 

Over  even  that  pale  countenance,  beneath  whose  hues  the 
lamp  of  life  so  faintly  fluttered,  a  deep,  radiant  flush  passed 
one  moment,  lighting  up  the  beautiful  ruin  with  the  glow  of 
maiden  youth  and  impassioned  hope,  and  then  died  rapidly 
away. 

"No,  Albert,"  she  said  sighing;  "no!  it  must  not  be.  Far 
easier  would  come  the  pang  to  you,  while  yet  we  are  not 
•wholly  united;  and  for  my  own  part  I  am  selfish,  and  feel  as 
if  I  should  leave  a  tenderer  remembrance  on  your  heart  thus 


236  THE   PILGRIMS   OF    THE   RHINE. 

parted, —  tenderer,  but  not  so  sad.  I  would  not  wish  you 
to  feel  yourself  widowed  to  my  memory;  I  would  not  cling 
like  a  blight  to  your  fair  prospects  of  the  future.  Kemember 
me  rather  as  a  dream, —  as  something  never  wholly  won,  and 
therefore  asking  no  fidelity  but  that  of  kind  and  forbearing 
thoughts.  Do  you  remember  one  evening  as  we  sailed  along 
the  Khine  —  ah!  happy,  happy  hour! — that  we  heard  from 
the  banks  a  strain  of  music, —  not  so  skilfully  played  as  to  be 
worth  listening  to  for  itself,  but,  suiting  as  it  did  the  hour 
and  the  scene,  we  remained  silent,  that  we  might  hear  it  the 
better;  and  when  it  died  insensibly  upon  the  waters,  a  cer- 
tain melancholy  stole  over  us;  we  felt  that  a  something  that 
softened  the  landscape  had  gone,  and  we  conversed  less  lightly 
than  before?  Just  so,  my  own  loved,  my  own  adored  Trevyl- 
yan,  just  so  is  the  influence  that  our  brief  love,  your  poor 
Gertrude's  existence,  should  bequeath  to  your  remembrance. 
A  sound,  a  presence,  should  haunt  you  for  a  little  while,  but 
no  more,  ere  you  again  become  sensible  of  the  glories  that 
court  your  way !  " 

But  as  Gertrude  said  this,  she  turned  to  Trevylyan,  and 
seeing  his  agony,  she  could  refrain  no  longer ;  she  felt  that  to 
soothe  was  to  insult;  and  throwing  herself  upon  his  breast, 
they  mingled  their  tears  together. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

A    SPOT    TO    BE    BURIED    IN. 

On  their  return  homeward,  Du e  took  the  third  seat  in 

the  carriage,  and  endeavoured,  with  his  usual  vivacity,  to 
cheer  the  spirits  of  his  companions;  and  such  was  the  elas- 
ticity of  Gertrude's  nature,  that  with  her,  he,  to  a  certain 
degree,  succeeded  in  his  kindl}'  attempt.  Quickly  alive  to  the 
charms  of  scenery,  she  entered  by  degrees  into  the  external 
beauties  which  every  turn  in  the  road  opened  to  their  view; 


THE   PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RIIIXE.  237 

and  the  silvery  smoothness  of  the  river,  that  made  the  con- 
stant attraction  of  the  landscape,  the  serenity  of  the  time,  and 
the  clearness  of  the  heavens,  tended  to  tranquillize  a  mind 
that,  like  a  sunflower,  so  instinctively  turned  from  the  shadow 
to  the  light. 

Once  Du e  stopped  the  carriage  in  a  spot  of  herbage, 

bedded  among  the  trees,  and  said  to  Gertrude,  "  We  are  now 
in  one  of  the  many  places  along  the  Neckar  which  your  fa- 
vourite traditions  serve  to  consecrate.  Amidst  yonder  copses, 
in  the  early  ages  of  Christianity,  there  dwelt  a  hermit,  who, 
though  young  in  years,  was  renowned  for  the  sanctity  of  his 
life.  None  knew  whence  he  came,  nor  for  what  cause  he  had 
limited  the  circle  of  life  to  the  seclusion  of  his  cell.  He  rarely 
spoke,  save  when  his  ghostly  advice  or  his  kindly  prayer  was 
needed;  he  lived  upon  herbs,  and  the  wild  fruits  which  the 
peasants  brought  to  his  cave;  and  every  morning  and  every 
evening  he  came  to  this  spot  to  fill  his  pitcher  from  the  water 
of  the  stream.  But  here  he  was  observed  to  linger  long  after 
his  task  was  done,  and  to  sit  gazing  upon  the  walls  of  a  con- 
vent which  then  rose  upon  the  opposite  side  of  the  bank, 
though  now  even  its  ruins  are  gone.  Gradually  his  health 
gave  way  beneath  the  austerities  he  practised ;  and  one  even- 
ing he  was  found  by  some  fishermen  insensible  on  the  turf. 
They  bore  him  for  medical  aid  to  the  opposite  convent;  and 
one  of  the  sisterhood,  the  daughter  of  a  prince,  was  summoned 
to  attend  the  recluse.  But  when  his  eyes  opened  upon  hers, 
a  sudden  recognition  appeared  to  seize  both.  He  spoke;  and 
the  sister  thrcAv  herself  on  the  couch  of  the  dying  man,  and 
shrieked  forth  a  name,  the  most  famous  in  the  surrounding 
country, —  the  name  of  a  once  noted  minstrel,  who,  in  those 
rude  times,  had  mingled  the  poet  with  the  lawless  chief,  and 
was  supposed,  years  since,  to  have  fallen  in  one  of  the  des- 
perate frays  between  prince  and  outlaw,  which  were  then 
common;  storming  the  very  castle  which  held  her,  now  the 
pious  nun,  then  the  beauty  and  presider  over  the  tourna- 
ment and  galliard.  In  her  arms  the  spirit  of  the  hermit 
passed  r^way.  She  survived  but  a  few  hours,  and  left  conjec- 
ture busy  with  a  history  to  which  it  never  obtained  further 


238  THE  PILGRIMS   OF   THE   RHINE. 

clew.  Many  a  troubadour  in  later  times  furnished  forth  in 
poetry  the  details  which  truth  refused  to  supply;  and  the 
place  where  the  hermit  at  sunrise  and  sunset  ever  came  to 
gaze  upon  the  convent  became  consecrated  by  song." 

The  place  invested  with  this  legendary  interest  was  im- 
pressed with  a  singular  aspect  of  melancholy  quiet;  wild- 
flowers  yet  lingered  on  the  turf,  whose  grassy  sedges  gently 
overhung  the  Keckar,  that  murmured  amidst  them  with  a 
plaintive  music.  Not  a  wind  stirred  the  trees ;  but  at  a  little 
distance  from  the  place,  the  spire  of  a  church  rose  amidst  the 
copse;  and,  as  they  paused,  they  suddenly  heard  from  the 
holy  building  the  bell  that  summons  to  the  burial  of  the  dead. 
It  came  on  the  ear  in  such  harmony  with  the  spot,  with  the 
hour,  with  the  breathing  calm,  that  it  thrilled  to  the  heart  of 
each  with  an  inexpressible  power.  It  was  like  the  voice  of 
another  world,  that  amidst  the  solitude  of  nature  summoned 
the  lulled  spirit  from  the  cares  of  this;  it  invited,  not  re- 
pulsed, and  had  in  its  tone  more  of  softness  than  of  awe. 

Gertrude  turned,  with  tears  starting  to  her  eyes,  and,  lay- 
ing her  hand  on  Trevylyan's,  whispered,  "In  such  a  spot,  so 
calm,  so  sequestered,  yet  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  house 
of  God,  would  I  wish  this  broken  frame  to  be  consigned  to 
rest." 


CHAPTER  THE   LAST. 

THE    CONCLUSION    OF    THIS    TALE. 

From  that  day  Gertrude's  spirit  resumed  its  wonted  cheer- 
fulness, and  for  the  ensuing  week  she  never  reverted  to  her 
approaching  fate ;  she  seemed  once  more  to  have  grown  uncon- 
scious of  its  limit.  Perhaps  she  sought,  anxious  for  Trevylyan 
to  the  last,  not  to  throw  additional  gloom  over  their  earthly 
separation ;  or,  perhaps,  once  steadily  regarding  the  certainty 
of  her  doom,  its  terrors  vanished.  The  chords  of  thought, 
vibrating  to  the  subtlest  emotions,  may  be  changed  by  a  single 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE   RHINE.  239 

incident,  or  in  a  single  hour;  a  sound  of  sacred  music,  a  green 
and  quiet  burial-place,  may  convert  the  form  of  death  into  the 
aspect  of  an  angel.  And  therefore  wisely,  and  with  a  beauti- 
ful lore,  did  the  Greeks  strip  the  grave  of  its  unreal  gloom ; 
wisely  did  they  body  forth  the  great  principle  of  Rest  by  sol- 
emn and  lovely  images,  unconscious  of  the  northern  madness 
that  made  a  Spectre  of  Repose! 

But  while  Gertrude's  spirit  resumed  its  healthful  tone,  her 
frame  rapidly  declined,  and  a  few  days  now  could  do  the  rav- 
age of  months  a  little  while  before. 

One  evening,  amidst  the  desolate  ruins  of  Heidelberg, 
Trevylyan,  who  had  gone  forth  alone  to  indulge  the  thoughts 
which  he  strove  to  stifle  in  Gertrude's  presence,  suddenly  en- 
countered Vane.  That  calm  and  almost  callous  pupil  of  the 
adversities  of  the  world  was  standing  alone,  and  gazing  upon 
the  shattered  casements  and  riven  tower,  through  which  the 
sun  now  cast  its  slant  and  parting  ray. 

Trevylyan,  who  had  never  loved  this  cold  and  unsusceptible 
man,  save  for  the  sake  of  Gertrude,  felt  now  almost  a  hatred 
creep  over  him,  as  he  thought  in  such  a  time,  and  with  death 
fastening  upon  the  flower  of  his  house,  he  could  yet  be  calm, 
and  smile,  and  muse,  and  moralize,  and  play  the  common  part 
of  the  world.  He  strode  slowly  up  to  him,  and  standing  full 
before  him,  said  with  a  hollow  voice  and  writhing  smile, 
"You  amuse  yourself  pleasantly,  sir:  this  is  a  fine  scene;  and 
to  meditate  over  griefs  a  thousand  years  hushed  to  rest  is 
better  than  watching  over  a  sick  girl  and  eating  away  your 
heart  with  fear!  " 

Vane  looked  at  him  quietly,  but  intenth',  and  made  no 
reply. 

"Vane!"  continued  Trevj-lyan,  with  the  same  preternatu- 
ral attempt  at  calm,  "Vane,  in  a  few  days  all  will  be  over, 
and  you  and  I,  the  things,  the  plotters,  the  false  men  of  the 
world,  will  be  left  alone, —  left  by  the  sole  being  that  graces 
our  dull  life,  that  makes  by  her  love  either  of  us  worthy  of  a 
thought!  " 

Vane  started,  and  turned  away  his  face.  "  You  are  cruel, " 
said  he,  with  a  faltering  voice. 


240  THE  PILGRIMS  OF   THE  RHINE. 

"What,  man!"  shouted  Trevylyan,  seizing  him  abruptly 
by  the  arm,  "can  you  feel?  Is  your  cold  heart  touched? 
Come  then,"  added  he,  with  a  wild  laugh,  "come,  let  us  be 
friends !  " 

Vane  drew  himself  aside,  with  a  certain  dignity,  that  im- 
pressed Trevylyan  even  at  that  hour.  "Some  years  hence," 
said  he,  "you  will  be  called  cold  as  I  am;  sorrow  will  teach 
you  the  wisdom  of  indifference  —  it  is  a  bitter  school,  sir, —  a 
bitter  school !  But  think  you  that  I  do  indeed  see  unmoved 
my  last  hope  shivered, —  the  last  tie  that  binds  me  to  my 
kind?  No,  no!  I  feel  it  as  a  man  may  feel;  I  cloak  it  as  a 
man  grown  gray  in  misfortune  should  do!  My  child  is  more 
to  me  than  your  betrothed  to  you;  for  you  are  young  and 
wealthy,  and  life  smiles  before  you;  but  I  — no  more  —  sir,— 
no  more!  " 

"Forgive  me,"  said  Trevylyan,  humbly,  "I  have  wronged 
you;  but  Gertrude  is  an  excuse  for  any  crime  of  love;  and 
now  listen  to  my  last  prayer, —  give  her  to  me,  even  on  the 
verge  of  the  grave.  Death  cannot  seize  her  in  the  arms,  in 
the  vigils  of  a  love  like  mine." 

Vane  shuddered.   "  It  were  to  wed  the  dead,"  said  he.  "No!  " 

Trevylyan  drew  back,  and  without  another  word,  hurried 
away;  he  returned  to  the  town;  he  sought,  with  methodical 
calmness,  the  owner  of  the  piece  of  ground  in  which  Gertrude 
had  wished  to  be  buried.  He  purchased  it,  and  that  very 
night  he  sought  the  priest  of  a  neighbouring  church,  and  di- 
rected it  should  be  consecrated  according  to  the  due  rite  and 
ceremonial. 

The  priest,  an  aged  and  pious  man,  was  struck  by  the  re- 
quest, and  the  air  of  him  who  made  it. 

"Shall  it  be  done  forthwith,  sir?  "  said  he,  hesitating. 

"Forthwith,"  answered  Trevylyan,  with  a  calm  smile, —  "a 
bridegroom,  you  know,  is  naturally  impatient." 

For  the  next  three  days,  Gertrude  was  so  ill  as  to  be  con- 
fined to  her  bed.  All  that  time  Trevylyan  sat  outside  her 
door,  without  speaking,  scarcely  lifting  his  eyes  from  the 
ground.  The  attendants  passed  to  and  fro, —  he  heeded  them 
not;   perhaps  as  even  the  foreign  menials  turned  aside  and 


THE  PILGRIMS   OF   THE  RHINE.  241 

wiped  their  eyes,  and  prayed  God  to  comfort  him,  he  required 
compassion  less  at  that  time  than  any  other.  There  is  a  stu- 
pefaction in  woe,  and  the  heart  sleeps  without  a  pang  when 
exhausted  by  its  afflictions. 

But  on  the  fourth  day  Gertrude  rose,  and  was  carried  down 
(how  changed,  yet  how  lovely  ever !)  to  their  common  apart- 
ment. Duriug  those  three  days  the  priest  had  been  with  her 
often,  and  her  spirit,  full  of  religion  from  her  childhood,  had 
been  unspeakably  soothed  by  his  comfort.  She  took  food  from 
the  hand  of  Trevylyan;  she  smiled  upon  him  as  sweetly  as  of 
old.  She  conversed  with  him,  though  with  a  faint  voice,  and 
at  broken  intervals.  But  she  felt  no  pain;  life  ebbed  away 
gradually,  and  without  a  pang.  "My  father,"  she  said  to 
Vane,  whose  features  still  bore  their  usual  calm,  whatever 
might  have  passed  within,  "I  know  that  you  will  grieve  when 
I  am  gone  more  than  the  world  might  guess;  for  I  alone  know 
what  you  were  years  ago,  ere  friends  left  you  and  fortune 
frowned,  and  ere  my  poor  mother  died.  But  do  not  —  do  not 
believe  that  hope  and  comfort  leave  you  with  me.  Till  the 
heaven  pass  away  from  the  earth  there  shall  be  comfort  and 
hope  for  all." 

They  did  not  lodge  in  the  town,  but  had  fixed  their  abode 
on  its  outskirts,  and  within  sight  of  the  Xeckar;  and  from 
the  window  they  saw  a  light  sail  gliding  gayly  by  till  it 
passed,  and  solitude  once  more  rested  upon  the  waters. 

"The  sail  passes  from  our  eyes,"  said  Gertrude,  pointing  to 
it,  "  but  still  it  glides  on  as  happily  though  we  see  it  no  more ; 
and  I  feel  —  yes.  Father,  I  feel  —  I  know  that  it  is  so  with 
vs.  We  glide  down  the  river  of  time  from  the  eyes  of  men, 
but  we  cease  not  the  less  to  be  !  " 

And  now,  as  the  twilight  descended,  she  expressed  a  wish, 
before  she  retired  to  rest,  to  be  left  alone  with  Trevylyan. 
He  was  not  then  sitting  by  her  side,  for  he  would  not  trust 
himself  to  do  so,  but  with  his  face  averted,  at  a  little  distance 
from  her.  She  called  him  by  his  name;  he  answered  not,  nor 
turned.  Weak  as  she  was,  she  raised  herself  from  the  sofa, 
and  crept  gently  along  the  floor  till  she  came  to  him,  and  sank 
in  his  arms. 

16 


242  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

"  Ah,  unkind !  "  she  said,  "  unkind  for  once !  Will  you  turn 
away  from  me?  Come,  let  us  look  once  more  on  the  river: 
see!  the  night  darkens  over  it.  Our  pleasant  voyage,  the  type 
of  our  love,  is  finished;  our  sail  may  be  unfurled  no  more. 
Never  again  can  your  voice  soothe  the  lassitude  of  sickness 
with  the  legend  and  the  song;  the  course  is  run,  the  vessel  is 
broken  up,  night  closes  over  its  fragments ;  but  now,  in  this 
hour,  love  me,  be  kind  to  me  as  ever.  Still  let  me  be  your 
own  Gertrude,  still  let  me  close  my  eyes  this  night,  as  before, 
with  the  sweet  consciousness  that  I  am  loved." 

"Loved!  0  Gertrude!  speak  not  to  me  thus!  " 

"Come,  that  is  yourself  again!  "  and  she  clung  with  weak 
arms  caressingly  to  his  breast.  "And  now,"  she  said  more 
solemnly,  "  let  us  forget  that  we  are  mortal ;  let  us  remember 
only  that  life  is  a  part,  not  the  whole,  of  our  career;  let  us 
feel  in  this  soft  hour,  and  while  yet  we  are  unsevered,  the 
presence  of  The  Eternal  that  is  within  us,  so  that  it  shall  not 
be  as  death,  but  as  a  short  absence;  and  when  once  the  pang 
of  parting  is  over,  you  must  think  only  that  we  are  shortly  to 
meet  again.  What!  you  turn  from  me  still?  See,  I  do  not 
weep  or  grieve,  I  have  conquered  the  pang  of  our  absence; 
will  you  be  outdone  by  me?  Do  you  remember,  Albert,  that 
you  once  told  me  how  the  wisest  of  the  sages  of  old,  in  prison, 
and  before  death,  consoled  his  friends  with  the  proof  of  the 
immortality  of  the  soul?  Is  it  not  a  consolation;  does  it  not 
suffice;  or  will  you  deem  it  wise  from  the  lips  of  wisdom,  but 
vain  from  the  lips  of  love?  " 

"Hush,  hush!"  said  Trevylyan,  wildly;  "or  I  shall  think 
you  an  angel  already." 

But  let  us  close  this  commune,  and  leave  unrevealed  the  last 
sacred  words  that  ever  passed  between  them  upon  earth. 

When  Vane  and  the  physician  stole  back  softly  into  the 
room,  Trevylyan  motioned  to  them  to  be  still.  "She  sleeps," 
he  whispered;  "hush!"  And  in  truth,  wearied  out  by  her 
own  emotions,  and  lulled  by  the  belief  that  she  had  soothed 
one  with  whom  her  heart  dwelt  now,  as  ever,  she  had  fallen 
into  sleep,  or  it  may  be,  insensibility,  on  his  breast.  There 
as  she  lay,  so  fair,  so  frail,  so  delicate,  the  twilight  deepened 


THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE.  243 

into  shade,  and  the  first  star,  like  the  hope  of  the  future, 
broke  forth  upon  the  darkness  of  the  earth. 

Nothing  could  equal  the  stillness  without,  save  that  which 
lay  breathlessly  within.  For  not  one  of  the  group  stirred  or 
spoke,  and  Trevylyan,  bending  over  her,  never  took  his  eyes 
from  her  face,  watching  the  parted  lips,  and  fancying  that  he 
imbibed  the  breath.  Alas,  the  breath  was  stilled!  from  sleep 
to  death  she  had  glided  without  a  sigh, —  happy,  most  happy 
in  that  death!  cradled  in  the  arms  of  unchanged  love,  and 
brightened  in  her  last  thought  by  the  consciousness  of  inno- 
cence aud  the  assurances  of  Heaven! 

Trevylyan,  after  a  long  sojourn  on  the  Continent,  returned 
to  England.  He  plunged  into  active  life,  and  became  what  is 
termed  in  this  age  of  little  names  a  distinguished  and  noted 
man.  But  what  was  mainly  remarkable  in  his  future  conduct 
was  his  impatience  of  rest.  He  eagerly  courted  all  occupa- 
tions, even  of  the  most  varied  and  motley  kind, —  business, 
letters,  ambition,  pleasure.  He  suffered  no  pause  in  his 
career;  and  leisure  to  him  was  as  care  to  others.  He  lived  in 
the  world,  as  the  worldly  do,  discharging  its  duties,  fostering 
its  affections,  and  fulfilling  its  career.  But  there  was  a  deep 
and  wintry  change  within  him, —  the  sxinlight  of  his  life  was 
gone;  the  loveliness  of  romance  had  left  the  earth.  The  stem 
was  proof  as  heretofore  to  the  blast,  but  the  green  leaves  were 
severed  from  it  forever,  and  the  bird  had  forsaken  its  boughs. 
Once  he  had  idolized  the  beauty  that  is  born  of  song,  the  glory 
and  the  ardour  that  invest  such  thoughts  as  are  not  of  our 
common  clay;  but  the  well  of  enthusiasm  was  dried  up,  and 
the  golden  bowl  was  broken  at  the  fountain.  With  Gertrude 
the  poetry  of  existence  was  gone.  As  she  herself  had  de- 
scribed her  loss,  a  music  had  ceased  to  breathe  along  the  face 
of  things;  and  though  the  bark  might  sail  on  as  swiftly,  and 
the  stream  swell  with  as  proud  a  wave,  a  something  that  had 
vibrated  on  the  heart  was  still,  and  the  magic  of  the  voyage 
was  no  more. 

And  Gertrude  sleeps  on  the  spot  where  she  wished  her  last 
couch  to  be  made ;  and  far  —  oh,  far  dearer  is  that  small  spot 


244  THE  PILGRIMS  OF  THE  RHINE. 

on  the  distant  banks  of  the  gliding  Neckar  to  Trevylyan's 
heart  than  all  the  broad  lands  and  fertile  fields  of  his  ances- 
tral domain.  The  turf  too  preserves  its  emerald  greenness; 
and  it  would  seem  to  me  that  the  field  flowers  spring  up  by  the 
sides  of  the  simple  tomb  even  more  profusely  than  of  old.  A 
curve  in  the  bank  breaks  the  tide  of  the  Neckar ;  and  therefore 
its  stream  pauses,  as  if  to  linger  reluctantly,  by  that  solitary 
grave,  and  to  mourn  among  the  rustling  sedges  ere  it  passes 
on.  And  I  have  thought,  when  I  last  looked  upon  that  quiet 
place,  when  I  saw  the  turf  so  fresh,  and  the  flowers  so  bright 
of  hue,  that  aerial  hands  might  indeed  tend  the  sod;  that  it 
was  by  no  imaginary  spells  that  I  summoned  the  fairies  to 
my  tale;  that  in  truth,  and  with  vigils  constant  though  un- 
seen, they  yet  kept  from  all  polluting  footsteps,  and  from  the 
harsher  influence  of  the  seasons,  the  grave  of  one  who  so  loved 
their  race ;  and  who,  in  her  gentle  and  spotless  virtue  claimed 
kindred  with  the  beautiful  Ideal  of  the  world.  Is  there  one 
of  us  who  has  not  known  some  being  for  whom  it  seemed  not 
too  wild  a  fantasy  to  indulge  such  dreams? 


THE   END. 


THE    COMING    KACE. 


TO 

MAX    MtJLLER, 

IN   TRIBUTE   OF   RESPECT   AND    ADMIRATION. 


THE  COMING  RACE. 


CHAPTER   I. 

I  AM  a  native  of  ,  in  the  United  States  of  America. 

My  ancestors  migrated  from  England  in  the  reign  of  Charles 
II. ;  and  my  grandfather  was  not  undistinguished  in  the  War 
of  Independence.  My  family,  therefore,  enjoyed  a  somewhat 
high  social  position  in  right  of  birth;  and  being  also  opulent, 
they  were  considered  disqualified  for  the  public  service.  My 
father  once  ran  for  Congress,  but  was  signally  defeated  by  his 
tailor.  After  that  event  he  interfered  little  in  politics,  and 
lived  much  in  his  library.  I  was  the  eldest  of  three  sons,  and 
sent  at  the  age  of  sixteen  to  the  old  country,  partly  to  com- 
plete my  literary  education,  partly  to  commence  my  commer- 
cial training  in  a  mercantile  firm  at  Liverpool.  My  father 
died  shortly  after  I  was  twenty -one;  and  being  left  well  off, 
and  having  a  taste  for  travel  and  adventure,  I  resigned,  for  a 
time,  all  pursuit  of  the  almighty  dollar,  and  became  a  desul- 
tory wanderer  over  the  face  of  the  earth. 

In  the  year  18 — ,  happening  to  be  in  ,  I  was  invited 

by  a  professional  engineer,  with  whom  I  had  made  acquain- 
tance, to  visit  the  recesses  of  the mine,  upon  which  he 

was  employed. 

The  reader  will  understand,  ere  he  close  this  narrative,  my 
reason  for  concealing  all  clew  to  the  district  of  which  I  write, 
and  will  perhaps  thank  me  for  refraining  from  any  descrip- 
tion that  may  tend  to  its  discovery. 

Let  me  say,  then,  as  briefly  as  possible,  that  I  accompanied 
the  engineer  into  the  interior  of  the  mine,  and  became  so 
strangely  fascinated  by  its  gloomy  wonders,  and  so  interested 


250  THE  COMING  RACE. 

in  my  friend's  explorations,  that  I  prolonged  my  stay  in  the 
neighbourhood,  and  descended  daily,  for  some  weeks,  into 
the  vaults  and  galleries  hollowed  by  nature  and  art  beneath 
the  surface  of  the  earth.  The  engineer  was  persuaded  that  far 
richer  deposits  of  mineral  wealth  than  had  yet  been  detected 
would  be  found  in  a  new  shaft  that  had  been  commenced 
under  his  operations.  In  piercing  this  shaft  we  came  one 
day  upon  a  chasm  jagged  and  seemingly  charred  at  the  sides, 
as  if  burst  asunder  at  some  distant  period  by  volcanic  fires. 
Down  this  chasm  my  friend  caused  himself  to  be  lowered  in 
a  "cage,"  having  first  tested  the  atmosphere  by  the  safety- 
lamp.  He  remained  nearly  an  hour  in  the  abyss.  When  he 
returned  he  was  very  pale,  and  with  an  anxious,  thoughtful 
expression  of  face,  very  different  from  its  ordinary  character, 
which  was  open,  cheerful,  and  fearless. 

He  said  briefly  that  the  descent  appeared  to  him  unsafe,  and 
leading  to  no  result ;  and  suspending  further  operations  in  the 
shaft,  we  returned  to  the  more  familiar  parts  of  the  mine. 

All  the  rest  of  that  day  the  engineer  seemed  pre-occupied 
by  some  absorbing  thought.  He  was  unusually  taciturn,  and 
there  was  a  scared,  bewildered  look  in  his  eyes,  as  that  of  a 
man  who  has  seen  a  ghost.  At  night,  as  we  two  were  sitting 
alone  in  the  lodging  we  shared  together  near  the  mouth  of 
the  mine,  I  said  to  my  friend, — 

"Tell  me  frankly  what  you  saw  in  that  chasm;  I  am  sure  it 
was  something  strange  and  terrible.  Whatever  it  be,  it  has 
left  your  mind  in  a  state  of  doubt.  In  such  a  case  two  heads 
are  better  than  one.     Confide  in  me." 

The  engineer  long  endeavoured  to  evade  my  inquiries ;  but 
as,  while  he  spoke,  he  helped  himself  unconsciously  out  of 
the  brandy-flask  to  a  degree  to  which  he  was  wholly  unac- 
customed, for  he  was  a  very  temperate  man,  his  reserve  gradu- 
ally melted  away.  He  who  would  keep  himself  to  himself 
should  imitate  the  dumb  animals,  and  drink  water.  At  last 
he  said, "  I  will  tell  you  all.  When  the  cage  stopped,  I  found 
myself  on  a  ridge  of  rock;  and  below  me,  the  chasm,  taking  a 
slanting  direction,  shot  down  to  a  considerable  depth,  the 
darkness  of  which  my  lamp  could  not  have  penetrated.     But 


THE  COMING  RACE.  251 

through  it,  to  my  infinite  surprise,  streamed  upward  a  steady- 
brilliant  light.  Could  it  be  any  volcanic  fire?  In  that  case, 
surely  I  should  have  felt  the  heat.  Still,  if  on  this  there  was 
doubt,  it  was  of  the  utmost  importance  to  our  common  safety 
to  clear  it  up.  I  examined  the  sides  of  the  descent,  and  found 
that  I  could  venture  to  trust  myself  to  the  irregular  projec- 
tions or  ledges,  at  least  for  some  way.  I  left  the  cage,  and 
clambered  down.  As  I  drew  near  and  nearer  to  the  light,  the 
chasm  became  wider,  and  at  last  I  saw,  to  my  unspeakable 
amaze,  a  broad  level  road  at  the  bottom  of  the  abyss,  illumined 
as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach  by  what  seemed  artificial  gas- 
lamps  placed  at  regular  intervals,  as  in  the  thoroughfare  of  a 
great  city;  and  I  heard  confusedly  at  a  distance  a  hum  as  of 
human  voices.  I  know,  of  course,  that  no  rival  miners  are  at 
work  in  this  district.  Whose  could  be  those  voices?  What 
human  hands  could  have  levelled  that  road  and  marshalled 
those  lamps? 

"  The  superstitious  belief,  common  to  miners,  that  gnomes 
or  fiends  dwell  within  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  began  to  seize 
me.  I  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  descending  farther  and 
braving  the  inhabitants  of  this  nether  valley.  Nor  indeed 
could  I  have  done  so  without  ropes,  as  from  the  spot  I  had 
reached  to  the  bottom  of  the  chasm  the  sides  of  the  rock  sank 
down  abrupt,  smooth,  and  sheer.  I  retraced  my  steps  with 
some  difiiculty.     Now  I  have  told  you  all." 

"You  will  descend  again?  " 

"I  ought,  yet  I  feel  as  if  I  durst  not." 

"A  trusty  companion  halves  the  journey  and  doubles  the 
courage.  I  will  go  with  you.  We  will  provide  ourselves  with 
ropes  of  suitable  length  and  strength,  and  —  pardon  me  —  you 
must  not  drink  more  to-night.  Our  hands  and  feet  must  be 
steady  and  firm  to-morrow." 


252  THE  COMING  RACE. 


CHAPTER  II. 


With  the  morning  my  friend's  nerves  were  re-braced,  and 
Jie  was  not  less  excited  by  curiosity  than  myself.  Perhaps 
more ;  for  he  evidently  believed  in  his  own  story,  and  I  felt 
considerable  doubt  of  it :  not  that  he  would  have  wilfully  told 
an  untruth,  but  that  I  thought  he  must  have  been  under  one 
of  those  hallucinations  which  seize  on  our  fancy  or  our  nerves 
in  solitary,  unaccustomed  places,  and  in  which  we  give  shape 
to  the  formless  and  sound  to  the  dumb. 

We  selected  six  veteran  miners  to  watch  our  descent;  and 
as  the  cage  held  only  one  at  a  time,  the  engineer  descended 
first;  and  when  he  had  gained  the  ledge  at  which  he  had  be- 
fore halted,  the  cage  re-arose  for  me.  I  soon  gained  his  side. 
We  had  provided  ourselves  with  a  strong  coil  of  rope. 

The  light  struck  on  my  sight  as  it  had  done  the  day  before 
on  my  friend's.  The  hollow  through  which  it  came  sloped 
diagonally;  it  seemed  to  me  a  diffused  atmospheric  light,  not 
like  that  from  fire,  but  soft  and  silvery,  as  from  a  northern 
star.  Quitting  the  cage,  we  descended,  one  after  the  other, 
easily  enough,  owing  to  the  juts  in  the  side,  till  we  reached 
the  place  at  which  my  friend  had  previously  halted,  and 
which  was  a  projection  just  spacious  enough  to  allow  us  to 
stand  abreast.  From  this  spot  the  chasm  widened  rapidly, 
like  the  lower  end  of  a  vast  funnel,  and  I  saw  distinctly  the 
valley,  the  road,  the  lamps  which  my  companion  had  de- 
scribed. He  had  exaggerated  nothing.  I  heard  the  sounds 
he  had  heard, —  a  mingled  indescribable  hum  as  of  voices  and 
a  dull  tramp  as  of  feet.  Straining  my  eye  farther  down,  I 
clearly  beheld  at  a  distance  the  outline  of  some  large  build- 
ing. It  could  not  be  mere  natural  rock, —  it  was  too  sym- 
metrical, with  huge  heavy  Egyptian-like  columns,  and  the 
whole  lighted  as  from  within.  I  had  about  me  a  small 
pocket-telescope,  and  by  the  aid  of  this  I  could  distinguish, 
near  the  building  I  mention,  two  forms  which  seemed  human, 


THE  COMING   RACE.  253 

though  I  could  not  be  sure.  At  least  they  were  living,  for 
they  moved,  and  both  vanished  within  the  building.  We 
now  proceeded  to  attach  the  end  of  the  rope  we  had  brought 
with  us  to  the  ledge  on  which  we  stood,  by  the  aid  of  clamps 
and  grappling-hooks,  with  which,  as  well  as  with  necessary 
tools,  we  were  provided. 

We  were  almost  silent  in  our  work.  We  toiled  like  men 
afraid  to  speak  to  each  other.  One  end  of  the  rope  being  thus 
apparently  made  firm  to  the  ledge,  the  other,  to  which  we 
fastened  a  fragment  of  the  rock,  rested  on  the  ground  below, 
a  distance  of  some  fifty  feet.  I  was  a  younger  and  a  more 
active  man  than  my  companion,  and  having  served  on  board 
ship  in  my  boyhood,  this  mode  of  transit  was  more  familiar 
to  me  than  to  him.  In  a  whisper  I  claimed  the  precedence, 
so  that  when  I  gained  the  ground  I  might  serve  to  hold  the 
rope  more  steady  for  his  descent.  I  got  safely  to  the  ground 
beneath,  and  the  engineer  now  began  to  lower  himself.  But 
he  had  scarcely  accomplished  ten  feet  of  the  descent,  when 
the  fastenings,  which  we  had  fancied  so  secure,  gave  way,  or 
rather  the  rock  itself  proved  treacherous  and  crumbled  beneath 
the  strain ;  and  the  unhappy  man  was  precipitated  to  the  bot- 
tom, falling  just  at  my  feet,  and  bringing  down  with  his  fall 
splinters  of  the  rock,  one  of  which,  fortunately  but  a  small 
one,  struck  and  for  the  time  stunned  me.  When  I  recovered 
my  senses  I  saw  my  companion  an  inanimate  mass  beside  me, 
life  utterly  extinct.  While  I  was  bending  over  his  corpse  in 
grief  and  horror,  I  heard  close  at  hand  a  strange  sound  be- 
tween a  snort  and  a  hiss;  and  turning  instinctively  to  the 
quarter  from  which  it  came,  I  saw  emerging  from  a  dark  fis- 
sure in  the  rock  a  vast  and  terrible  head,  with  open  jaws  and 
dull,  ghastly,  hungry  eyes, —  the  head  of  a  monstrous  reptile 
resembling  that  of  the  crocodile  or  alligator,  but  infinitely 
larger  than  the  largest  creature  of  that  kind  I  had  ever  beheld 
in  my  travels.  I  started  to  my  feet  and  fled  down  the  valley 
at  my  utmost  speed.  I  stopped  at  last,  ashamed  of  my  panic 
and  my  flight,  and  returned  to  the  spot  on  which  I  had  left 
the  body  of  my  friend.  It  was  gone ;  doubtless  the  monster 
had  already  drawn  it  into  its  den  and  devoured  it.     The  rope 


254  THE  COMING  RACE. 

and  the  grappling-hooks  still  lay  where  they  had  fallen,  but 
they  afforded  me  no  chance  of  return;  it  was  impossible  to  re- 
attach them  to  the  rock  above,  and  the  sides  of  the  rock  were 
too  sheer  and  smooth  for  human  steps  to  clamber.  I  was 
alone  in  this  strange  world,  amidst  the  bowels  of  the  earth. 


CHAPTER  III. 

Slowly  and  cautiously  I  went  my  solitary  way  down  the 
lamplit  road  and  towards  the  large  building  I  have  de- 
scribed. The  road  itself  seemed  like  a  great  Alpine  pass, 
skirting  rocky  mountains,  of  which  the  one  through  whose 
chasms  I  had  descended  formed  a  link.  Deep  below  to  the 
left  lay  a  vast  valley,  which  presented  to  my  astonished  eye 
the  unmistakable  evidences  of  art  and  culture.  There  were 
fields  covered  with  a  strange  vegetation,  similar  to  none  I 
have  seen  above  the  earth;  the  colour  of  it  not  green,  but 
rather  of  a  dull  leaden  hue  or  of  a  golden  red. 

There  were  lakes  and  rivulets  which  seemed  to  have  been 
curved  into  artificial  banks ;  some  of  pure  water,  others  that 
shone  like  pools  of  naphtha.  At  my  right  hand,  ravines  and 
defiles  opened  amidst  the  rocks,  with  passes  between,  evi- 
dently constructed  by  art,  and  bordered  by  trees  resembling, 
for  the  most  part,  gigantic  ferns,  with  exquisite  varieties  of 
feathery  foliage,  and  stems  like  those  of  the  palm-tree. 
Others  were  more  like  the  cane-plant,  but  taller,  bearing 
large  clusters  of  flowers.  Others,  again,  had  the  form  of 
enormous  fungi,  with  short  thick  stems  supporting  a  wide 
dome-like  roof,  from  which  either  rose  or  drooped  long  and 
slender  branches.  The  whole  scene  behind,  before,  and  be- 
side me,  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  was  brilliant  with  innu- 
merable lamps.  The  world  without  a  sun  was  bright  and 
warm  as  an  Italian  landscape  at  noon,  but  the  air  less  op- 
pressive, the  heat  softer.  Nor  was  the  scene  before  me 
void  of  signs  of  habitation.     I  could  distinguish  at  a  dis- 


THE  COMING   RACE.  255 

tance,  whether  on  the  banks  of  lake  or  rivulet,  or  half-way 
upon  eminences,  embedded  amidst  the  vegetation,  buildings 
that  must  surely  be  the  homes  of  men.  I  could  even  dis- 
cover, though  far  off,  forms  that  appeared  to  me  human 
moving  amidst  the  landscape.  As  I  paused  to  gaze,  I  saw 
to  the  right,  gliding  quickly  through  the  air,  what  appeared 
a  small  boat,  impelled  by  sails  shaped  like  wings.  It  soon 
passed  out  of  sight,  descending  amidst  the  shades  of  a  forest. 
Eight  above  me  there  was  no  sky,  but  onl}^  a  cavernous  roof. 
This  roof  grew  higher  and  higher  at  the  distance  of  the  land- 
scapes beyond,  till  it  became  imperceptible,  as  an  atmosphere 
of  haze  formed  itself  beneath. 

Continuing  my  walk,  I  started  —  from  a  bush  that  resem- 
bled a  great  tangle  of  seaweeds,  interspersed  with  fern-like 
shrubs  and  plants  of  large  leafage  shaped  like  that  of  the  aloe 
or  prickly  pear  —  a  curious  animal  about  the  size  and  shape  of 
a  deer.  But  as,  after  bounding  away  a  few  paces,  it  turned 
round  and  gazed  at  me  inquisitively,  I  perceived  that  it  was 
not  like  any  species  of  deer  now  extant  above  the  earth,  but 
it  brought  instantly  to  my  recollection  a  plaster  cast  I  had 
seen  in  some  museum  of  a  variety  of  the  elk  stag,  said  to 
have  existed  before  the  Deluge.  The  creature  seemed  tame 
enough,  and,  after  inspecting  me  a  moment  or  two,  began 
to  graze  on  the  singular  herbage  around,  undismayed  and 
careless. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

I  NOW  came  m  full  sight  of  the  building.  Yes,  it  had  been 
made  by  hands,  and  hollowed  partly  out  of  a  great  rock.  I 
should  have  supposed  it  at  the  first  glance  to  have  been  of  the 
earliest  form  of  Eygptian  architecture.  It  was  fronted  by 
huge  columns,  tapering  upward  from  massive  plinths,  and 
with  capitals  that,  as  I  came  nearer,  I  perceived  to  be  more 
ornamental  and  more  fantastically  graceful  than  Egyptian 
architecture  allows.     As   the  Corinthian  capital  mimics  the 


256  THE  COMING  RACE. 

leaf  of  the  acanthus,  so  the  capitals  of  these  columns  imitated 
the  foliage  of  the  vegetation  neighbouring  them,  some  aloe- 
like, some  fern-like.  And  now  there  came  out  of  this  build- 
ing a  form,  human, —  was  it  human?  It  stood  on  the  broad 
way  and  looked  around,  beheld  me  and  approached.  It  came 
within  a  few  yards  of  me,  and  at  the  sight  and  presence  of  it 
an  indescribable  awe  and  tremor  seized  me,  rooting  my  feet  to 
the  ground.  It  reminded  me  of  symbolical  images  of  Genius 
or  Demon  that  are  seen  on  Etruscan  vases  or  limned  on  the 
walls  of  Eastern  sepulchres, —  images  that  borrow  the  outlines 
of  man,  and  are  yet  of  another  race.  It  was  tall,  not  gigantic, 
but  tall  as  the  tallest  men  below  the  height  of  giants.  Its 
chief  covering  seemed  to  me  to  be  composed  of  large  wings 
folded  over  its  breast  and  reaching  to  its  knees ;  the  rest  of  its 
attire  was  composed  of  an  under  tunic  and  leggings  of  some 
thin  hbrous  material.  It  wore  on  its  head  a  kind  of  tiara  that 
shone  with  jewels,  and  carried  in  its  right  hand  a  slender  staff 
of  bright  metal  like  polished  steel.  But  the  face!  it  was  that 
which  inspired  my  awe  and  my  terror.  It  was  the  face  of 
man,  but  yet  of  a  type  of  man  distinct  from  our  known  extant 
races.  The  nearest  approach  to  it  in  outline  and  expression 
is  the  face  of  the  sculptured  sphinx,  so  regular  in  its  calm, 
intellectual,  mysterious  beauty.  Its  colour  was  peculiar,  more 
like  that  of  the  red  man  than  any  other  variety  of  our  species, 
and  yet  different  from  it, —  a  richer  and  a  softer  hue,  with 
large  black  eyes,  deep  and  brilliant,  and  brows  arched  as  a 
semicircle.  The  face  was  beardless;  but  a  nameless  some- 
thing in  the  aspect,  tranquil  though  the  expression,  and  beau- 
teous though  the  features,  roused  that  instinct  of  danger  which 
the  sight  of  a  tiger  or  serpent  arouses.  I  felt  that  this  man- 
like image  was  endowed  with  forces  inimical  to  man.  As  it 
drew  near,  a  cold  shudder  came  over  me.  I  fell  on  my  knees 
and  covered  my  face  with  my  hands. 


THE  COMING  RACE.  257 


CHAPTER   V. 

A  VOICE  accosted  me  —  a  very  quiet  and  very  musical  key 
of  voice  —  ia  a  language  of  which  I  could  not  understand  a 
word,  but  it  served  to  dispel  my  fear.  I  uncovered  my  face 
and  looked  up.  The  stranger  (I  could  scarcely  bring  myself 
to  call  him  man)  surveyed  me  with  an  eye  that  seemed  to  read 
the  very  depths  of  my  heart.  He  then  placed  his  left  hand  on 
my  forehead,  and  with  the  staff  in  his  right  gently  touched 
my  shoulder.  The  effect  of  this  double  contact  was  magical. 
In  place  of  my  former  terror  there  passed  into  me  a  sense  of 
contentment,  of  joy,  of  confidence  in  myself  and  in  the  being 
before  me.  I  rose  and  spoke  in  my  own  language.  He  lis- 
tened to  me  with  apparent  attention,  but  with  a  slight  sur- 
prise in  his  looks ;  and  shook  his  head,  as  if  to  signify  that  I 
was  not  understood.  He  then  took  me  by  the  hand  and  led 
me  in  silence  to  the  building.  The  entrance  was  open, —  in- 
deed, there  was  no  door  to  it.  We  entered  an  immense  hall, 
lighted  by  the  same  kind  of  lustre  as  in  the  scene  without, 
but  diffusing  a  fragrant  odour.  The  floor  was  in  large  tessel- 
lated blocks  of  precious  metals,  and  partly  covered  with  a  sort 
of  mat-like  carpeting.  A  strain  of  low  music,  above  and 
around,  undulated  a-s  if  from  invisible  instruments,  seeming 
to  belong  naturally  to  the  place,  just  as  the  sound  of  murmur- 
ing waters  belongs  to  a  rocky  landscape,  or  the  warble  of 
birds  to  vernal  groves. 

A  figure,  in  a  simpler  garb  than  that  of  my  guide,  but  of 
similar  fashion,  was  standing  motionless  near  the  threshold. 
My  guide  touched  it  twice  with  his  staff,  and  it  put  itself  into 
a  rapid  and  gliding  movement,  skimming  noiselessly  over  the 
floor.  Gazing  on  it,  I  then  saw  that  it  was  no  living  form,  but  a 
mechancial  automaton.  It  might  be  two  minutes  after  it  van- 
ished through  a  doorless  opening,  half  screened  by  curtains  at 
the  other  end  of  the  hall,  when  through  the  same  opening  ad- 
vanced a  boy  of  about  twelve  years  old,  with  features  closely 

17 


258  THE  COMIXG  RACE. 

resembling  those  of  my  guide,  so  that  they  seemed  to  me  evi- 
dently son  and  father.  On  seeing  me  the  child  uttered  a  cry, 
and  lifted  a  staff  like  that  borne  by  my  guide,  as  if  in  menace. 
At  a  word  from  the  elder  he  dropped  it.  The  two  then  con- 
versed for  some  moments,  examining  me  while  they  spoke. 
The  child  touched  my  garments,  and  stroked  my  face  with 
evident  curiosity,  uttering  a  sound  like  a  laugh,  but  with  an 
hilarity  more  subdued  than  the  mirth  of  our  laughter.  Pres- 
ently the  roof  of  the  hall  opened,  and  a  platform  descended, 
seemingly  constructed  on  the  same  principle  as  the  "lifts" 
used  in  hotels  and  warehouses  for  mounting  from  one  story  to 
another. 

The  stranger  placed  himself  and  the  child  on  the  platform, 
and  motioned  to  me  to  do  the  same,  which  I  did.  We  ascended 
quickly  and  safely,  and  alighted  in  the  midst  of  a  corridor 
with  doorways  on  either  side. 

Through  one  of  these  doorways  I  was  conducted  into  a 
chamber  fitted  up  with  an  Oriental  splendour;  the  walls  were 
tessellated  with  spars  and  metals  and  uncut  jewels ;  cushions 
and  divans  abounded;  apertures  as  for  windows,  but  unglazed, 
were  made  in  the  chamber,  opening  to  the  floor;  and  as  I 
passed  along  I  observed  that  these  openings  led  into  spacious 
balconies,  and  commanded  views  of  the  illumined  landscape 
without.  In  cages  suspended  from  the  ceiling  there  were 
birds  of  strange  form  and  bright  plumage,  which  at  our  en- 
trance set  up  a  chorus  of  song,  modulated  into  tune,  as  is  that 
of  our  piping  bullfinches.  A  delicious  fragrance,  from  censers 
of  gold  elaborately  sculptured,  filled  the  air.  Several  auto- 
mata, like  the  one  I  had  seen,  stood  dumb  and  motionless  by 
the  walls.  The  stranger  placed  me  beside  him  on  a  divan, 
and  again  spoke  to  me,  and  again  I  spoke,  but  without  the 
least  advance  towards  understanding  each  other. 

But  now  I  began  to  feel  the  effects  of  the  blow  I  received 
from  the  splinters  of  the  falling  rock  more  acutely  than  I  had 
done  at  first. 

There  came  over  me  a  sense  of  sickly  faintness,  accom- 
panied with  acute,  lancinating  pains  in  the  head  and  neck.  I 
sank  back  on  the  seat,  and  strove  in  vain  to  stifle  a  groan.    On 


THE  COMING  RACE.  259 

this  the  child,  who  had  hitherto  seemed  to  eye  me  with  dis- 
trust or  dislike,  knelt  by  my  side  to  support  me;  taking  one 
of  my  hands  in  both  his  own,  he  approached  his  lips  to  my 
forehead,  breathing  on  it  softly.  In  a  few  moments  my  pain 
ceased ;  a  drowsy,  happy  calm  crept  over  me ;  I  fell  asleep. 

How  long  I  remained  in  this  state  I  know  not,  but  when  I 
woke  I  felt  perfectly  restored.  My  eyes  opened  upon  a  group 
of  silent  forms,  seated  around  me  in  the  gravity  and  quietude 
of  Orientals, — all  more  or  less  like  the  first  stranger;  the 
same  mantling  wings,  the  same  fashion  of  garment,  the  same 
sphinx-like  faces,  with  the  deep  dark  eyes  and  red  man's  colour; 
above  all,  the  same  type  of  race, —  race  akin  to  man's,  but 
infinitely  stronger  of  form  and  grander  of  aspect,  and  inspiring 
the  same  unutterable  feeling  of  dread.  Yet  each  countenance 
was  mild  and  tranquil,  and  even  kindly  in  its  expression ;  and 
strangely  enough,  it  seemed  to  me  that  in  this  very  calm  and 
benignity  consisted  the  secret  of  the  dread  which  the  counte- 
nances inspired.  They  seemed  as  void  of  the  lines  and  shadows 
which  care  and  sorrow,  and  passion  and  sin,  leave  upon  the 
faces  of  men,  as  are  the  faces  of  sculptured  gods,  or  as,  in  the 
eyes  of  Christian  mourners,  seem  the  peaceful  brows  of 
the  dead. 

I  felt  a  warm  hand  on  my  shoulder;  it  was  the  child's.  In 
his  eyes  there  was  a  sort  of  lofty  pity  and  tenderness,  such  as 
that  with  which  we  may  gaze  on  some  suffering  bird  or  but- 
terfly. I  shrank  from  that  touch,  I  shrank  from  that  eye.  I 
was  vaguely  impressed  with  a  belief  that,  had  he  so  pleased, 
that  child  could  have  killed  me  as  easily  as  a  man  can  kill  a 
bird  or  a  butterfly.  The  child  seemed  pained  at  my  repug- 
nance, quitted  me,  and  placed  himself  beside  one  of  the  win- 
dows. The  others  continued  to  converse  with  each  other  in 
a  low  tone,  and  by  their  glances  towards  me  I  could  perceive 
that  I  was  the  object  of  their  conversation.  One  in  especial 
seemed  to  be  urging  some  proposal  affecting  me  on  the  being 
whom  I  had  first  met,  and  this  last  by  his  gesture  seemed 
about  to  assent  to  it,  when  the  child  suddenly  quitted  his  post 
by  the  window,  placed  himself  between  me  and  the  other 
forms,  as  if  in  protection,  and  spoke  quickly  and  eagerly.    By 


260  THE  COMIXG  RACE. 

some  intuition  or  instinct  I  felt  that  the  child  I  had  before  so 
dreaded  was  pleading  in  my  behalf.  Ere  he  had  ceased  an- 
other stranger  entered  the  room.  He  appeared  older  than  the 
rest,  though  not  old;  his  countenance,  less  smoothly  serene 
than  theirs,  though  equally  regular  in  its  features,  seemed  to 
nie  to  have  more  the  touch  of  a  humanity  akin  to  my  own. 
He  listened  quietly  to  the  words  addressed  to  him,  first  by 
my  guide,  next  by  two  others  of  the  group,  and  lastly  by  the 
child:  then  turned  towards  myself,  and  addressed  me,  not  by 
words,  but  by  signs  and  gestures.  These  I  fancied  that  I  per- 
fectly understood,  and  I  was  not  mistaken.  I  comprehended 
that  he  inquired  whence  I  came.  I  extended  my  arm  and 
pointed  towards  the  road  which  had  led  me  from  the  chasm  in 
the  rock;  then  an  idea  seized  me.  I  drew  forth  my  pocket- 
book,  and  sketched  on  one  of  its  blank  leaves  a  rough  design 
of  the  ledge  of  the  rock,  the  rope,  myself  clinging  to  it ;  then 
of  the  cavernous  rock  below,  the  head  of  the  reptile,  the  life- 
less form  of  my  friend.  I  gave  this  primitive  kind  of  hiero- 
glyph to  my  interrogator,  who,  after  inspecting  it  gravely, 
handed  it  to  his  next  neighbour,  and  it  thus  passed  round  the 
group.  The  being  I  had  at  first  encountered  then  said  a  few 
words,  and  the  child,  who  approached  and  looked  at  my  draw- 
ing, nodded  as  if  he  comprehended  its  purport,  and,  returning 
to  the  window,  expanded  the  wings  attached  to  his  form, 
shook  them  once  or  twice,  and  then  launched  himself  into 
space  without.  I  started  up  in  amaze,  and  hastened  to  the 
window.  The  child  was  already  in  the  air,  buoyed  on  his 
wings,  which  he  did  not  flap  to  and  fro  as  a  bird  does,  but 
which  were  elevated  over  his  head,  and  seemed  to  bear  him 
steadily  aloft  without  effort  of  his  own.  His  flight  seemed  as 
swift  as  any  eagle's;  and  I  observed  that  it  was  towards  the 
rock  whence  I  had  descended,  of  which  the  outline  loomed 
visible  in  the  brilliant  atmosphere.  In  a  very  few  minutes 
he  returned,  skimming  through  the  opening  from  which  he 
had  gone,  and  dropping  on  the  floor  the  rope  and  grappling- 
hooks  I  had  left  at  the  descent  from  the  chasm.  Some  words 
in  a  low  tone  passed  between  the  beings  present.  One  of  the 
group  touched  an  automaton,  which  started  forward  and  glided 


THE  COMING  RACE.  261 

from  the  room;  then  the  last  comer,  who  had  addressed  me  by 
gestures,  rose,  took  me  by  the  hand,  and  led  me  into  the  cor- 
ridor. There  the  platform  by  which  I  had  mounted  awaited 
us;  we  placed  ourselves  on  it,  and  were  lowered  into  the  hall 
below.  My  new  companion,  still  holding  me  by  the  hand, 
conducted  me  from  the  building  into  a  street  (so  to  speak) 
that  stretched  beyond  it,  with  buildings  on  either  side,  sepa- 
rated from  each  other  by  gardens  bright  with  rich-coloured 
A'egetation  and  strange  flowers.  Interspersed  amidst  these 
gardens,  which  were  divided  from  each  other  by  low  walls, 
or  walking  slowly  along  the  road,  were  many  forms  similar  to 
those  I  had  already  seen.  Some  of  the  passers-by,  on  observ- 
ing me,  approached  my  guide,  evidently  by  their  tones,  looks, 
and  gestures  addressing  to  him  inquiries  about  myself.  In 
a  few  moments  a  crowd  collected  round  us,  examining  me  with 
great  interest,  as  if  I  were  some  rare  wild  animal.  Yet  even 
in  gratifying  their  curiosity  they  preserved  a  grave  and  cour- 
teous demeanour;  and  after  a  few  words  from  my  guide,  who 
seemed  to  me  to  deprecate  obstruction  in  our  road,  they  fell 
back  with  a  stately  inclination  of  head,  and  resumed  their 
own  way  with  tranquil  indifference.  Midway  in  this  thor- 
oughfare we  stopped  at  a  building  that  differed  from  those  we 
had  hitherto  passed,  inasmuch  as  it  formed  three  sides  of  a 
vast  court,  at  the  angles  of  which  were  lofty  pyramidal  towers; 
in  the  open  space  between  the  sides  was  a  circular  fountain  of 
colossal  dimensions,  and  throwing  up  a  dazzling  spray  of  what 
seemed  to  me  fire.  We  entered  the  building  through  an  open 
doorway  and  came  into  an  enormous  hall,  in  which  were  sev- 
eral groups  of  children,  all  apparently  employed  in  work  as  at 
some  great  factory.  There  was  a  huge  engine  in  the  wall 
which  was  in  full  play,  with  wheels  and  cylinders,  and  resem- 
bling our  own  steam-engines,  except  that  it  was  richly  orna- 
mented with  precious  stones  and  metals,  and  appeared  to  emit 
a  pale  phosphorescent  atmosphere  of  shifting  light.  Many  of 
the  children  were  at  some  mysterious  work  on  this  machinery, 
others  were  seated  before  tables.  I  was  not  allowed  to  linger 
long  enough  to  examine  into  the  nature  of  their  employment. 
Not  one  young  voice  was  heard,  not  one  young  face  turned  to 


262  THE   COMING   RACE. 

gaze  on  us.  They  were  all  still  and  indifferent  as  may  be 
ghosts,  through  the  midst  of  which  pass  unnoticed  the  forms 
of  the  living. 

Quitting  this  hall,  my  guide  led  me  through  a  gallery  richly 
painted  in  compartments,  with  a  barbaric  mixture  of  gold  in 
the  colours,  like  pictures  by  Louis  Cranach.  The  subjects 
described  on  these  walls  appeared  to  my  glance  as  intended  to 
illustrate  events  in  the  history  of  the  race  amidst  which  I  was 
admitted.  In  all  there  were  figures,  most  of  them  like  the 
manlike  creatures  I  had  seen,  but  not  all  in  the  same  fashion 
of  garb,  nor  all  with  wings.  There  were  also  the  effigies  of 
various  animals  and  birds  wholly  strange  to  me,  with  back- 
grounds depicting  landscapes  or  buildings.  So  far  as  my  im- 
perfect knowledge  of  the  pictorial  art  would  allow  me  to  form 
an  opinion,  these  paintings  seemed  very  accurate  in  design 
and  very  rich  in  colouring,  showing  a  perfect  knowledge  of 
perspective,  but  their  details  not  arranged  according  to  the 
rules  of  composition  acknowledged  by  our  artists, —  wanting, 
as  it  were,  a  centre;  so  that  the  effect  was  vague,  scattered, 
confused,  bewildering;  they  were  like  heterogeneous  frag- 
ments of  a  dream  of  art. 

We  now  came  into  a  room  of  moderate  size,  in  which  was 
assembled  what  I  afterwards  knew  to  be  the  family  of  my 
guide,  seated  at  a  table  spread  as  for  repast.  The  forms  thus 
grouped  were  those  of  my  guide's  wife,  his  daughter,  and  two 
sons.  I  recognized  at  once  the  difference  between  the  two 
sexes,  though  the  two  females  were  of  taller  stature  and  am- 
pler proportions  than  the  males;  and  their  countenances,  if 
still  more  symmetrical  in  outline  and  contour,  were  devoid  of 
the  softness  and  timidity  of  expression  which  give  charm  to 
the  face  of  woman  as  seen  on  the  earth  above.  The  wife  wore 
no  wings,  the  daughter  wore  wings  longer  than  those  of  the 
males. 

My  guide  uttered  a  few  words,  on  which  all  the  persons 
seated  rose,  and  with  that  peculiar  mildness  of  look  and  man- 
ner which  I  have  before  noticed,  and  which  is,  in  truth,  the 
common  attribute  of  this  formidable  race,  they  saluted  me  ac- 
cording to  their  fashion,  which  consists  in  laying  the  right 


THE   COMING  RACE.  263 

hand  very  gently  on  the  head  and  uttering  a  soft  sibilant 
monosyllable, —  S.  Si,  equivalent  to  "Welcome." 

The  mistress  of  the  house  then  seated  me  beside  her,  and 
heaped  a  golden  platter  before  me  from  one  of  the  dishes. 

While  I  ate  (and  though  the  viands  were  new  to  me,  I  mar- 
velled more  at  the  delicacy  than  the  strangeness  of  their  fla- 
vour), my  companions  conversed  quietly,  and,  so  far  as  I 
could  detect,  with  polite  avoidance  of  any  direct  reference  to 
myself,  or  any  obtrusive  scrutiny  of  my  appearance.  Yet  I 
was  the  first  creature  of  that  variety  of  the  human  race  to 
which  I  belong  that  they  had  ever  beheld,  and  was  conse- 
quently regarded  by  them  as  a  most  curious  and  abnormal 
phenomenon.  But  all  rudeness  is  unknown  to  this  people, 
and  the  youngest  child  is  taught  to  despise  any  vehement 
emotional  demonstration.  When  the  meal  was  ended,  my 
guide  again  took  me  by  the  hand,  and,  re-entering  the  gal- 
lery, touched  a  metallic  plate  inscribed  with  strange  figures, 
and  which  I  rightly  conjectured  to  be  of  the  nature  of  our 
telegraphs.  A  platform  descended,  but  this  time  we  mounted 
to  a  much  greater  height  than  in  the  former  building,  and 
found  ourselves  in  a  room  of  moderate  dimensions,  and  which 
in  its  general  character  had  much  that  might  be  familiar  to 
the  associations  of  a  visitor  from  the  upper  world.  There 
were  shelves  on  the  wall  containing  what  appeared  to  be 
books,  and  indeed  were  so;  mostly  very  small,  like  our  dia- 
mond duodecimos,  shaped  in  the  fashion  of  our  volumes,  and 
bound  in  fine  sheets  of  metal.  There  were  several  curious- 
looking  pieces  of  mechanism  scattered  about,  apparently 
models,  such  as  might  be  seen  in  the  study  of  any  profes- 
sional mechanician.  Four  automata  (mechanical  contrivances 
which,  with  these  people,  answer  the  ordinary  purposes  of 
domestic  service)  stood  phantom-like  at  each  angle  in  the 
wall.  In  a  recess  was  a  low  couch,  or  bed  with  pillows.  A 
window,  with  curtains  of  some  fibrous  material  drawn  aside, 
opened  upon  a  large  balcony.  My  host  stepped  out  into  the 
balcony;  I  followed  him.  We  were  on  the  uppermost  story 
of  one  of  the  angular  pyramids;  the  view  beyond  was  of  a 
wild   and  solemn   beauty  impossible   to  describe, —  the  vast 


264  THE   COMING  RACE. 

ranges  of  precipitous  rock  which  formed  the  distant  back- 
ground; the  intermediate  valleys  of  mystic  many-coloured 
herbage;  the  flash  of  waters,  many  of  them  like  streams  of 
roseate  flame;  the  serene  lustre  diffused  over  all  by  myriads 
of  lamps,  combined  to  form  a  whole  of  which  no  words  of 
mine  can  convey  adequate  description, —  so  splendid  was  it, 
yet  so  sombre;   so  lovely,  yet  so  awful. 

But  my  attention  was  soon  diverted  from  these  nether 
landscapes.  Suddenly  there  arose,  as  from  the  streets  below, 
a  burst  of  joyous  music;  then  a  winged  form  soared  into  the 
space;  another,  as  in  chase  of  the  first,  another  and  another; 
others  after  others,  till  the  crowd  grew  thick  and  the  number 
countless.  But  how  describe  the  fantastic  grace  of  these 
forms  in  their  undulating  movements !  They  appeared  engaged 
in  some  sport  or  amusement,  now  forming  into  opposite  squad- 
rons; now  scattering;  now  each  group  threading  the  other, 
soaring,  descending,  interweaving,  severing, —  all  in  measured 
time  to  the  music  below,  as  if  in  the  dance  of  the  fabled  Peri. 

I  turned  my  gaze  on  my  host  in  a  feverish  wonder.  I  ven- 
tured to  place  my  hand  on  the  large  wings  that  lay  folded  on 
his  breast,  and  in  doing  so  a  slight  shock  as  of  electricity 
passed  through  me.  I  recoiled  in  fear;  my  host  smiled,  and, 
as  if  courteously  to  gratify  my  curiosity,  slowly  expanded  his 
pinions.  I  observed  that  his  garment  beneath  then  became 
dilated  as  a  bladder  that  fills  with  air.  The  arms  seemed  to 
slide  into  the  wings,  and  in  another  moment  he  had  launched 
himself  into  the  luminous  atmosphere,  and  hovered  there, 
still,  and  with  outspread  wings,  as  an  eagle  that  basks  in  the 
sun.  Then,  rapidly  as  an  eagle  swoops,  he  rushed  downwards 
into  the  midst  of  one  of  the  groups,  skimming  through  the 
mist,  and  as  suddenly  again  soaring  aloft.  Thereon,  three 
forms,  in  one  of  which  I  thought  to  recognize  my  host's 
daughter,  detached  themselves  from  the  rest,  and  followed 
him  as  a  bird  sportively  follows  a  bird.  My  eyes,  dazzled 
with  the  lights  and  bewildered  by  the  throngs,  ceased  to  dis- 
tinguish the  gyrations  and  evolutions  of  these  winged  play- 
mates, till  presently  my  host  re-emerged  from  the  crowd  and 
alighted  at  my  side. 


THE   COMING   RACE.  265 

The  strangeness  of  all  I  had  seen  began  now  to  operate  fast 
on  my  senses ;  my  mind  itself  began  to  wander.  Though  not 
inclined  to  be  superstitious,  nor  hitherto  believing  that  man 
could  be  brought  into  bodily  communication  with  demons,  I 
felt  the  terror  and  the  wild  excitement  with  which,  in  the 
Gothic  ages,  a  traveller  might  have  persuaded  himself  that  he 
witnessed  a  sabbat  of  fiends  and  witches.  I  have  a  vague  rec- 
ollection of  having  attempted  with  vehement  gesticulation, 
and  forms  of  exorcism,  and  loud  incoherent  words,  to  repel 
my  courteous  and  indulgent  host;  of  his  mild  endeavours  to 
calm  and  soothe  me;  of  his  intelligent  conjecture  that  my 
fright  and  bewilderment  were  occasioned  by  the  difference  of 
form  and  movement  between  us,  which  the  wings  that  had  ex- 
cited my  marvelling  curiosity  had,  in  exercise,  made  still 
more  strongly  perceptible;  of  the  gentle  smile  with  which 
he  had  sought  to  dispel  my  alarm  by  dropping  the  wings  to 
the  ground  and  endeavouring  to  show  me  that  they  were  but 
a  mechanical  contrivance.  That  sudden  transformation  did 
but  increase  my  horror,  and  as  extreme  fright  often  shows  it- 
self by  extreme  daring,  I  sprang  at  his  throat  like  a  wild 
beast.  On  an  instant  I  was  felled  to  the  ground  as  by  an 
electric  shock,  and  the  last  confused  images  floating  before 
my  sight  ere  I  became  wholly  insensible  were  the  form  of  my 
host  kneeling  beside  me  with  one  hand  on  my  forehead,  and 
the  beautiful  calm  face  of  his  daughter,  with  large,  deep,  in- 
scrutable eyes  intently  fixed  upon  my  own. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

I  REMAINED  In  this  unconscious  state,  as  I  afterwards 
learned,  for  many  days,  even  for  some  weeks,  according  to 
our  computation  of  time.  "When  I  recovered  I  was  in  a 
strange  room,  my  host  and  all  his  family  were  gathered  round 
me,  and  to  my  utter  amaze  my  host's  daughter  accosted  me  in 
my  own  language  with  but  a  slightly  foreign  accent. 


266  THE   COMING   RACE. 

"How  do  you  feel?  "  she  asked. 

It  was  some  moments  before  I  could  overcome  my  surprise 
enough  to  falter  out,  "You  know  my  language?  How?  AYho 
and  what  are  you?  " 

My  host  smiled,  and  motioned  to  one  of  his  sons,  who  then 
took  from  a  table  a  number  of  thin  metallic  sheets  on  which 
were  traced  drawings  of  various  figures, —  a  house,  a  tree,  a 
bird,  a  man,  etc. 

In  these  designs  I  recognized  my  own  style  of  drawing. 
Under  each  figure  was  written  the  name  of  it  in  my  language, 
and  in  my  writing;  and  in  another  handwriting  a  word  strange 
to  me  beneath  it. 

Said  the  host,  "Thus  we  began;  and  my  daughter  Zee,  who 
belongs  to  the  College  of  Sages,  has  been  your  instructress 
and  ours  too." 

Zee  then  placed  before  me  other  metallic  sheets,  on  which, 
in  my  writing,  words  first,  and  then  sentences,  were  inscribed; 
under  each  word  and  each  sentence  strange  characters  in  an- 
other hand.  Eallying  my  senses,  I  comprehended  that  thus  a 
rude  dictionary  had  been  effected.  Had  it  been  done  while  I 
was  dreaming?  "That  is  enough  now,"  said  Zee,  in  a  tone  of 
command.     "Eepose  and  take  food." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

A  ROOM  to  myself  was  assigned  to  me  in  this  vast  edifice. 
It  was  prettily  and  fantastically  arranged,  but  without  any  of 
the  splendour  of  metal  work  or  gems  which  was  displayed  in 
the  more  public  apartments.  The  walls  were  hung  with  a 
variegated  matting  made  from  the  stalks  and  fibres  of  plants, 
and  the  floor  carpeted  with  the  same. 

The  bed  was  without  curtains,  its  supports  of  iron  resting 
on  balls  of  crystal;  the  coverings,  of  a  thin  white  substance 
resembling   cotton.     There   were   sundry   shelves  containing 


THE   COMING   RxVCE.  267 

books.  A  curtained  recess  communicated  with  an  aviary 
filled  with  singing-birds,  of  which  I  did  not  recognize  one 
resembling  those  I  have  seen  on  earth,  except  a  beautiful  spe- 
cies of  dove,  though  this  was  distinguished  from  our  doves  by 
a  tall  crest  of  bluish  plumes.  All  these  birds  had  been  trained 
to  sing  in  artful  tunes,  and  greatly  exceeded  the  skill  of  our 
piping  bullfinches,  which  can  rarely  achieve  more  than  two 
tunes,  and  cannot,  I  believe,  sing  those  in  concert.  One  might 
have  supposed  one's  self  at  an  opera  in  listening  to  the  voices 
in  my  aviary.  There  were  duets  and  trios,  and  quartettes  and 
choruses,  all  arranged  as  in  one  piece  of  music.  Did  I  want  to 
silence  the  birds?  I  had  but  to  draw  a  curtain  over  the  aviary, 
and  their  song  hushed  as  they  found  themselves  left  in  the 
dark.  Another  opening  formed  a  window,  not  glazed,  but  on 
touching  a  spring,  a  shutter  ascended  from  the  floor,  formed 
of  some  substance  less  transparent  than  glass,  but  still  suffi- 
ciently pellucid  to  allow  a  softened  view  of  the  scene  without. 
To  this  window  was  attached  a  balcony,  or  rather  hanging- 
garden,  wherein  grew  many  graceful  plants  and  brilliant 
flowers.  The  apartment  and  its  appurtenances  had  thus  a 
character,  if  strange  in  detail,  still  familiar,  as  a  whole,  to 
modern  notions  of  luxury,  and  would  have  excited  admiration 
if  found  attached  to  the  apartments  of  an  English  duchess  or 
a  fashionable  French  author.  Before  I  arrived  this  was  Zee's 
chamber;  she  had  hospitably  assigned  it  to  me. 

Some  hours  after  the  waking  up  which  is  described  in  my 
last  chapter,  I  was  lying  alone  on  my  couch,  trying  to  fix  my 
thoughts  on  conjecture  as  to  the  nature  and  genus  of  the 
people  amongst  whom  I  was  thrown,  when  my  host  and  his 
daughter  Zee  entered  the  room.  My  host,  still  speaking  my 
native  language,  inquired,  with  much  politeness,  whether  it 
would  be  agreeable  to  me  to  converse,  or  if  I  preferred  soli- 
tude. I  replied  that  I  should  feel  much  honoured  and  obliged 
by  the  opportunity  offered  me  to  express  my  gratitude  for  the 
hospitality  and  civilities  I  had  received  in  a  country  to  which 
I  was  a  stranger,  and  to  learn  enough  of  its  customs  and  man- 
ners not  to  offend  through  ignorance. 

As  I  spoke,  I  had  of  course  risen  from  my  couch ;  but  Zee, 


268  THE   COMING  RACE. 

much  to  my  confusion,  curtly  ordered  me  to  lie  down  again, 
and  there  was  something  in  her  voice  and  eye,  gentle  as  both 
were,  that  compelled  my  obedience.  She  then  seated  herself 
unconcernedly  at  the  foot  of  my  bed,  while  her  father  took  his 
place  on  a  divan  a  few  feet  distant. 

"But  what  part  of  the  world  do  you  come  from,"  asked  my 
host,  "that  we  should  appear  so  strange  to  you,  and  you  to 
us?  I  have  seen  individual  specimens  of  nearly  all  the  races 
differing  from  our  own,  except  the  primeval  savages  who 
dwell  in  the  most  desolate  and  remote  recesses  of  unculti- 
vated nature,  unacquainted  with  other  light  than  that  they 
obtain  from  volcanic  fires,  and  contented  to  grope  their  way 
in  the  dark,  as  do  many  creeping,  crawling,  and  even  flying 
things.  But  certainly  you  cannot  be  a  member  of  those  bar- 
barous tribes,  nor,  on  the  other  hand,  do  you  seem  to  belong 
to  any  civilized  people." 

I  was  somewhat  nettled  at  this  last  observation,  and  replied 
that  I  had  the  honour  to  belong  to  one  of  the  most  civilized 
nations  of  the  earth ;  and  that,  so  far  as  light  was  concerned, 
while  I  admired  the  ingenuity  and  disregard  of  expense  with 
which  my  host  and  his  fellow-citizens  had  contrived  to  illu- 
mine the  regions  unpenetrated  by  the  rays  of  the  sun,  yet  I 
could  not  conceive  how  any  who  had  once  beheld  the  orbs  of 
heaven  could  compare  to  their  lustre  the  artificial  lights  in- 
vented by  the  necessities  of  man.  But  my  host  said  he  had 
seen  specimens  of  most  of  the  races  differing  from  his  own, 
save  the  wretched  barbarians  he  had  mentioned.  Now,  was 
it  possible  that  he  had  never  been  on  the  surface  of  the  earth, 
or  could  he  only  be  referring  to  communities  buried  within 
its  entrails? 

My  host  was  for  some  moments  silent;  his  countenance 
showed  a  degree  of  surprise  which  the  people  of  that  race 
very  rarely  manifest  under  any  circumstances,  howsoever  ex- 
traordinary. But  Zee  was  more  intelligent,  and  exclaimed, 
"  So  you  see,  my  father,  that  there  is  truth  in  the  old  tradi- 
tion; there  always  is  truth  in  every  tradition  commonly  be- 
lieved  in  all  times  and  by  all  tribes." 

"Zee,"  said  my  host,  mildly,  "you  belong  to  the  College  of 


THE  COMING  RACE.  2G9 

Sages,  and  ought  to  be  wiser  than  I  am;  but,  as  chief  of  the 
Light-preserving  Council,  it  is  ray  duty  to  take  nothing  for 
granted  till  it  is  proved  to  the  evidence  of  my  own  senses." 
Then,  turning  to  me,  he  asked  me  several  questions  about  the 
surface  of  the  earth  and  the  heavenly  bodies;  upon  which, 
though  I  answered  him  to  the  best  of  my  knowledge,  my  an- 
swers seemed  not  to  satisfy  nor  convince  him.  He  shook  his 
head  quietly,  and,  changing  the  subject  rather  abruptly,  asked 
how  I  had  come  down  from  what  he  was  pleased  to  call  one 
world  to  the  other.  I  answered  that  under  the  surface  of  the 
earth  there  were  mines  containing  minerals,  or  metals,  essen- 
tial to  our  wants  and  our  progress  in  all  arts  and  industries; 
and  I  then  briefly  explained  the  manner  in  which,  while  ex- 
ploring one  of  these  mines,  I  and  my  ill-fated  friend  had  ob- 
tained a  glimpse  of  the  regions  into  which  we  had  descended, 
and  how  the  descent  had  cost  him  his  life,  —  appealing  to  the 
rope  and  grappling-hooks  that  the  child  had  brought  to  the 
house  in  which  I  had  been  at  first  received,  as  a  witness  of 
the  truthfulness  of  my  story. 

My  host  then  proceeded  to  question  me  as  to  the  habits  and 
modes  of  life  among  the  races  on  the  upper  earth,  more  especi- 
ally among  those  considered  to  be  the  most  advanced  in  that 
civilization  which  he  was  pleased  to  define  "the  art  of  diffus- 
ing throughout  a  community  the  tranquil  happiness  which  be- 
longs to  a  virtuous  and  well-ordered  household."  Naturally 
desiring  to  represent  in  the  most  favourable  colours  the  world 
from  which  I  came,  I  touched  but  slightly,  though  indul- 
gently, on  the  antiquated  and  decaying  institutions  of  Europe, 
in  order  to  expatiate  on  the  present  grandeur  and  prospective 
pre-eminence  of  that  glorious  American  Republic,  in  which 
Europe  enviously  seeks  its  model  and  tremblingly  foresees 
its  doom.  Selecting  for  an  example  of  the  social  life  of 
the  United  States  that  city  in  which  progress  advances  at  the 
fastest  rate,  I  indulged  in  an  animated  description  of  the 
moral  habits  of  New  York.  Mortified  to  see,  by  the  faces  of 
my  listeners,  that  I  did  not  make  the  favourable  impression  I 
had  anticipated,  I  elevated  my  theme,  dwelling  on  the  excel- 
lence of  democratic  institutions,  their  promotion  of  tranquil 


270  THE  COMING  RACE. 

happiness  by  tlie  government  of  party,  and  the  mode  in  which 
they  diffused  such  happiness  throughout  the  community  by 
preferring,  for  the  exercise  of  power  and  the  acquisition  of 
honours,  the  lowliest  citizens  in  point  of  property,  education, 
and  character.  Fortunately  recollecting  the  peroration  of  a 
speech,  on  the  purifying  iniluences  of  American  democracy 
and  their  destined  spread  over  the  world,  made  by  a  certain 
eloquent  senator  (for  whose  vote  in  the  Senate  a  Railway 
Company,  to  which  my  two  brothers  belonged,  had  just  paid 
twenty  thousand  dollars),  I  wound  up  by  repeating  its  glow- 
ing predictions  of  the  magnificent  future  that  smiled  upon 
mankind, —  when  the  flag  of  freedom  should  float  over  an  en- 
tire continent,  and  two  hundred  millions  of  intelligent  citi- 
zens, accustomed  from  infancy  to  the  daily  use  of  revolvers, 
should  apply  to  a  cowering  universe  the  doctrine  of  the  Patriot 
Monroe. 

When  I  had  concluded  my  host  gently  shook  his  head,  and 
fell  into  a  musing  study,  making  a  sign  to  me  and  his  daugh- 
ter to  remain  silent  while  he  reflected ;  and  after  a  time  he 
said,  in  a  very  earnest  and  solemn  tone,  "  If  you  think  as  you 
say,  that  you,  though  a  stranger,  have  received  kindness  at 
the  hands  of  me  and  mine,  I  adjure  you  to  reveal  nothing  to 
any  other  of  our  people  respecting  the  world  from  which  you 
came,  unless,  on  consideration,  I  give  you  permission  to  do 
so.     Do  you  consent  to  this  request?  " 

"Of  course  I  pledge  my  word  to  it,"  said  I,  somewhat 
amazed;  and  I  extended  my  right  hand  to  grasp  his.  But  he 
placed  my  hand  gently  on  his  forehead  and  his  own  right  hand 
on  my  breast,  which  is  the  custom  among  this  race  in  all  mat- 
ters of  promise  or  verbal  obligations.  Then  turning  to  his 
daughter,  he  said,  "  And  you.  Zee,  will  not  repeat  to  any  one 
what  the  stranger  has  said,  or  may  say,  to  me  or  to  you,  of  a 
world  other  than  our  own."  Zee  rose  and  kissed  her  father 
on  the  temples,  saying,  with  a  smile,  "A  Gy's  tongue  is  wan- 
ton, but  love  can  fetter  it  fast;  and  if,  my  father,  you  fear 
lest  a  chance  word  from  me  or  yourself  could  expose  our  com- 
munity to  danger,  by  a  desire  to  explore  a  world  beyond  us, 
will  not  a  wave  of  the  vrll,  properly  impelled,  wash  even  the 


THE   COMING  RACE.  271 

memory  of  what  we  have  heard  the  stranger  say  out  of  the 
tablets  of  the  brain?" 

"What  is  vril?"  I  asked. 

Therewith  Zee  began  to  enter  into  an  explanation  of  which 
I  understood  very  little,  for  there  is  no  word  in  any  language 
I  know  which  is  an  exact  synonym  for  vril.  I  should  call  it 
electricity,  except  that  it  comprehends  in  its  manifold  branches 
other  forces  of  nature,  to  which,  in  our  scientific  nomenclature, 
differing  names  are  assigned,  such  as  magnetism,  galvanism, 
etc.  These  people  consider  that  in  vril  they  have  arrived 
at  the  unity  in  natural  energetic  agencies,  which  has  been 
conjectured  by  many  philosophers  above  ground,  and  which 
Faraday  thus  intimates  under  the  more  cautious  terra  of 
"  correlation  " :  — 

"  I  have  long  held  an  opinion,"  says  that  illustrious  experimentalist, 
"almost  amounting  to  a  conviction,  in  common,  I  believe,  with  many 
other  lovers  of  natural  knowledge,  that  the  various  forms  under  which 
the  forces  of  matter  are  made  manifest  have  one  common  origin ;  or,  in 
other  words,  are  so  directly  related  and  mutually  dependent,  that  they 
are  convertible,  as  it  were,  into  one  another,  and  possess  equivalents  of 
power  in  their  action." 

These  subterranean  philosophers  assert  that,  by  one  opera- 
tion of  vril,  which  Faraday  would  perhaps  call  "atmospheric 
magnetism,"  they  can  influence  the  variations  of  temperature, 
—  in  plain  words,  the  weather ;  that  by  other  operations,  akin 
to  those  ascribed  to  mesmerism,  electro-biology,  odic  force, 
etc.,  but  applied  scientifically  through  vril  conductors,  they 
can  exercise  influence  over  minds,  and  bodies-  animal  and 
vegetable,  to  an  extent  not  surpassed  in  the  romances  of  our 
mystics.  To  all  such  agencies  they  give  the  common  name  of 
"vril."  Zee  asked  me  if,  in  my  world,  it  was  not  known  that 
all  the  faculties  of  the  mind  could  be  quickened  to  a  degree 
unknown  in  the  waking  state,  by  trance  or  vision,  in  which 
the  thoughts  of  one  brain  could  be  transmitted  to  another,  and 
knowledge  be  thus  rapidly  interchanged.  I  replied  that  there 
were  among  us  stories  told  of  such  trance  or  vision,  and  that 
I  had  heard  much  and  seen  something  of  the  mode  in  which 
they  were  artificially  effected,  as  in  mesmeric  clairvoyance; 


272  THE  COMING  RACE. 

but  tliat  tliese  practices  had  fallen  much  into  disuse  or  con- 
tempt, partly  because  of  the  gross  impostures  to  which  they 
had  been  made  subservient,  and  partly  because,  even  where 
the  effects  upon  certain  abnormal  constitutions  were  genuinely 
produced,  the  effects,  when  fairly  examined  and  analyzed, 
were  very  unsatisfactory,  —  not  to  be  relied  upon  for  any  sys- 
tematic truthfulness  or  any  practical  purpose,  and  rendered 
very  mischievous  to  credulous  persons  by  the  superstitions 
they  tended  to  produce.  Zee  received  my  answers  with  much 
benignant  attention,  and  said  that  similar  instances  of  abuse 
and  credulity  had  been  familiar  to  their  own  scientific  ex- 
perience in  the  infancy  of  their  knowledge  and  while  the 
properties  of  vril  were  misapprehended,  but  that  she  reserved 
further  discussion  on  this  subject  till  I  was  more  fitted  to  en- 
ter into  it.  She  contented  herself  with  adding  that  it  was 
through  the  agency  of  vril,  while  I  had  been  placed  in  the  state 
of  trance,  that  I  had  been  made  acquainted  with  the  rudiments 
of  their  language ;  and  that  she  and  her  father,  who,  alone  of 
the  family,  took  the  pains  to  watch  the  experiment,  had  ac- 
quired a  greater  proportionate  knowledge  of  my  language  than 
I  of  their  own, —  partly  because  my  language  was  much  sim- 
pler than  theirs,  comprising  far  less  of  complex  ideas;  and 
partly  because  their  organization  was,  by  hereditary  culture, 
much  more  ductile  and  more  readily  capable  of  acquiring 
knowledge  than  mine.  At  this  I  secretly  demurred ;  and  hav- 
ing had,  in  the  course  of  a  practical  life,  to  sharpen  my  wits, 
whether  at  home  or  in  travel,  I  could  not  allow  that  my  cere- 
bral organization  could  possibly  be  duller  than  that  of  people 
who  had  lived  all  their  lives  by  lamplight.  However,  while 
I  was  thus  thinking.  Zee  quietly  pointed  her  forefinger  at  my 
forehead  and  sent  me  to  sleep. 


THE  COMING   RACE.  273 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

When  I  once  more  awoke  I  saw  by  my  bedside  the  child 
who  had  brought  the  rope  and  grappling-hooks  to  the  house 
in  which  I  had  been  first  received,  and  which,  as  I  afterwards 
learned,  was  the  residence  of  the  chief  magistrate  of  the  tribe. 
The  child,  whose  name  was  Tae  (pronounced  Tar-ee),  was  the 
magistrate's  eldest  son.  I  found  that  during  my  last  sleep  or 
trance  I  had  made  still  greater  advance  in  the  language  of 
the  country,  and  could  converse  with  comparative  ease  and 
fluency. 

This  child  was  singularly  handsome,  even  for  the  beautiful 
race  to  which  he  belonged,  with  a  countenance  very  manly  in 
aspect  for  his  years,  and  with  a  more  vivacious  and  energetic 
expression  than  I  had  hitherto  seen  in  the  serene  and  passion- 
less faces  of  the  men.  He  brought  me  the  tablet  on  which  I 
had  drawn  the  mode  of  my  descent,  and  had  also  sketched  the 
head  of  the  horrible  reptile  that  had  scared  me  from  my 
friend's  corpse.  Pointing  to  that  part  of  the  drawing,  Tae 
put  to  me  a  few  questions  respecting  the  size  and  form  of  the 
monster,  and  the  cave  or  chasm  from  which  it  had  emerged. 
His  interest  in  my  answers  seemed  so  grave  as  to  divert  him 
for  a  while  from  any  curiosity  as  to  myself  or  my  antecedents ; 
but  to  my  great  embarrassment,  seeing  how  I  was  pledged  to 
my  host,  he  was  just  beginning  to  ask  me  where  I  came  from, 
when  Zee  fortunately  entered,  and,  overhearing  him,  said, 
"Tae,  give  to  our  guest  any  information  he  may  desire,  but 
ask  none  from  him  in  return.  To  question  him  who  he  is, 
whence  he  comes,  or  wherefore  he  is  here,  would  be  a  breach 
of  the  law  which  my  father  has  laid  down  for  this  house." 

"So  be  it,"  said  Tae,  pressing  his  hand  to  his  heart;  and 
from  that  moment  till  the  one  in  which  I  saw  him  last,  this 
child,  with  whom  I  became  very  intimate,  never  once  put  to 
me  any  of  the  questions  thus  interdicted. 

18 


274  THE  COMING  KACE. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

It  was  not  for  some  time,  and  until,  by  repeated  trances,  if 
they  are  so  to  be  called,  my  mind  became  better  prepared  to 
interchange  ideas  witli  my  entertainers,  and  more  fully  to 
comprehend  differences  of  manners  and  customs,  at  first  too 
strange  to  my  experience  to  be  seized  by  my  reason,  that  I 
was  enabled  to  gather  the  following  details  respecting  the 
origin  and  history  of  this  subterranean  population,  as  portion 
of  one  great  family  race  called  the  "  Ana. " 

According  to  the  earliest  traditions,  the  remote  progenitors 
of  the  race  had  once  tenanted  a  world  above  the  surface  of 
that  in  which  their  descendants  dwelt.  Myths  of  that  world 
were  still  preserved  in  their  archives,  and  in  those  myths 
were  legends  of  a  vaulted  dome  in  which  the  lamps  were 
lighted  by  no  human  hand;  but  such  legends  were  considered 
by  most  commentators  as  allegorical  fables.  According  to 
these  traditions  the  earth  itself,  at  the  date  to  which  the  tra- 
ditions ascend,  was  not  indeed  in  its  infancy,  but  in  the 
throes  and  travail  of  transition  from  one  form  of  development 
to  another,  and  subject  to  many  violent  revolutions  of  nature. 
By  one  of  such  revolutions,  that  portion  of  the  upper  world 
inhabited  by  the  ancestors  of  this  race  bad  been  subjected  to 
inundations,  not  rapid,  but  gradual  and  uncontrollable,  in 
which  all,  save  a  scanty  remnant,  were  submerged  and  per- 
ished. Whether  this  be  a  record  of  our  historical  and  sacred 
Deluge,  or  of  some  earlier  one  contended  for  by  geologists,  I 
do  not  pretend  to  conjecture ;  though,  according  to  the  chro- 
nology of  this  people  as  compared  with  that  of  Newton,  it 
must  have  been  many  thousands  of  years  before  the  time  of 
Noah.  On  the  other  hand,  the  account  of  these  writers  does 
not  harmonize  with  the  opinions  most  in  vogue  among  geologi- 
cal authorities,  inasmuch  as  it  places  the  existence  of  a  human 
race  upon  earth  at  dates  long  anterior  to  that  assigned  to  the 


THE   COMING  RACE.  275 

terrestrial  formation  adapted  to  the  introduction  of  mammalia. 
A  band  of  the  ill-fated  race,  thus  invaded  by  the  Flood,  had, 
during  the  march  of  the  waters,  taken  refuge  in  caverns  amidst 
the  loftier  rocks,  and,  wandering  through  these  hollows,  they 
lost  sight  of  the  upper  world  forever.  Indeed,  the  whole  face 
of  the  earth  had  been  changed  by  this  great  revulsion;  land 
had  been  turned  into  sea,  sea  into  land.  In  the  bowels  of  the 
inner  earth  even  now,  I  was  informed  as  a  positive  fact,  might 
be  discovered  the  remains  of  human  habitation, —  habitation 
not  in  huts  and  caverns,  but  in  vast  cities  whose  ruins  attest 
the  civilization  of  races  which  flourished  before  the  age  of 
Noah,  and  are  not  to  be  classified  with  those  genera  to  which 
philosophy  ascribes  the  use  of  flint  and  the  ignorance  of  iron. 

The  fugitives  had  carried  with  them  the  knowledge  of  the 
arts  they  had  practised  above  ground, —  arts  of  culture  and 
civilization.  Their  earliest  want  must  have  been  that  of  sup- 
plying below  the  earth  the  light  they  had  lost  above  it;  and  at 
no  time,  even  in  the  traditional  period,  do  the  races,  of  which 
the  one  I  now  sojourned  with  formed  a  tribe,  seem  to  have 
been  unacquainted  with  the  art  of  extracting  light  from  gases 
or  manganese  or  petroleum.  They  had  been  accustomed  in 
their  former  state  to  contend  with  the  rude  forces  of  nature; 
and  indeed  the  lengthened  battle  they  had  fought  with  their 
conqueror  Ocean,  which  had  taken  centuries  in  its  spread, 
had  quickened  their  skill  in  curbing  waters  into  dikes  and 
channels.  To  this  skill  they  owed  their  preservation  in  their 
new  abode.  "For  many  generations,"  said  my  host,  with  a 
sort  of  contempt  and  horror,  "these  primitive  forefathers  are 
said  to  have  degraded  their  rank  and  shortened  their  lives  by 
eating  the  flesh  of  animals,  many  varieties  of  which  had,  like 
themselves,  escaped  the  Deluge,  and  sought  shelter  in  the 
hollows  of  the  earth ;  other  animals,  supposed  to  be  unknown 
to  the  upper  world,  those  hollows  themselves  produced." 

When  what  we  should  term  the  historical  age  emerged  from 
the  twilight  of  tradition,  the  Ana  were  already  established  in 
different  communities,  and  had  attained  to  a  degree  of  civiliza- 
tion very  analogous  to  that  which  the  more  advanced  nations 
above  the  earth  now  enjoy.     They  were  familiar  with  most  of 


276  THE   COMING  RACE. 

our  mechanical  inventions,  including  the  application  of  steam 
as  well  as  gas.  The  communities  were  in  fierce  competition 
with  each  other.  They  had  their  rich  and  their  poor;  they 
had  orators  and  conquerors ;  they  made  war  either  for  a  do- 
main or  an  idea.  Though  the  various  States  acknowledged 
various  forms  of  government,  free  institutions  were  beginning 
to  preponderate;  popular  assemblies  increased  in  power;  re- 
publics soon  became  general;  the  democracy  to  which  the 
most  enlightened  European  politicians  look  forward  as  the 
extreme  goal  of  political  advancement,  and  which  still  pre- 
vailed among  other  subterranean  races,  whom  they  despised 
as  barbarians,  the  loftier  family  of  Ana,  to  which  belonged 
the  tribe  I  was  visiting,  looked  back  to  as  one  of  the  crude 
and  ignorant  experiments  which  belong  to  the  infancy  of 
political  science.  It  was  the  age  of  envy  and  hate,  of  fierce 
passions,  of  constant  social  changes  more  or  less  violent,  of 
strife  between  classes,  of  war  between  State  and  State.  This 
phase  of  society  lasted,  however,  for  some  ages,  and  was  fi- 
nally brought  to  a  close,  at  least  among  the  nobler  and  more 
intellectual  populations,  by  the  gradual  discovery  of  the  latent 
powers  stored  in  the  all-permeating  fluid  which  they  denominate 
"Vril." 

According  to  the  account  I  received  from  Zee,  who,  as  an 
erudite  professor  in  the  College  of  Sages,  had  studied  such 
matters  more  diligently  than  any  other  member  of  my  host's 
family,  this  fluid  is  capable  of  being  raised  and  disciplined 
into  the  mightiest  agency  over  all  forms  of  matter,  animate 
or  inanimate.  It  can  destroy  like  the  flash  of  lightning;  yet, 
differently  applied,  it  can  replenish  or  invigorate  life,  heal, 
and  preserve;  and  on  it  they  chiefly  rely  for  the  cure  of  dis- 
ease, or  rather  for  enabling  the  physical  organization  to  re- 
establish the  due  equilibrium  of  its  natural  powers,  and 
thereby  to  cure  itself.  By  this  agency  they  rend  way  through 
the  most  solid  substances,  and  open  valleys  for  culture  through 
the  rocks  of  their  subterranean  wilderness.  From  it  they  ex- 
tract the  light  which  supplies  their  lamps,  finding  it  steadier, 
softer,  and  healthier  than  the  other  inflammable  materials 
they  had  formerly  used. 


THE  COMING  RACE.  277 

But  the  effects  of  the  alleged  discovery  of  the  means  to 
direct  the  more  terrible  force  of  vril  were  chiefly  remarkable 
in  their  influence  upon  social  polity.  As  these  effects  became 
familiarly  known  and  skilfully  administered,  war  between  the 
Vril-discoverers  ceased,  for  they  brought  the  art  of  destruc- 
tion to  such  perfection  as  to  annul  all  superiority  in  numbers, 
discipline,  or  military  skill.  The  flre  lodged  in  the  hollow  of 
a  rod  directed  by  the  hand  of  a  child  could  shatter  the  strong- 
est fortress,  or  cleave  its  burning  way  from  the  van  to  the 
rear  of  an  embattled  host.  If  army  met  army,  and  both  had 
command  of  this  agency,  it  could  be  but  to  the  annihilation  of 
each.  The  age  of  war  was  therefore  gone,  but  with  the  cessa- 
tion of  war  other  effects  bearing  upon  the  social  state  soon 
became  apparent.  Man  was  so  completely  at  the  mercy  of 
man,  each  whom  he  encountered  being  able,  if  so  willing,  to 
slay  him  on  the  instant,  that  all  notions  of  government  by 
force  gradually  vanished  from  political  systems  and  forms  of 
law.  It  is  only  by  force  that  vast  communities,  dispersed 
through  great  distances  of  space,  can  be  kept  together;  but 
now  there  was  no  longer  either  the  necessity  of  self-preserva- 
tion or  the  pride  of  aggrandizement  to  make  one  State  desire 
to  preponderate  in  population  over  another. 

The  Vril-discoverers  thus,  in  the  course  of  a  few  genera- 
tions, peacefully  split  into  communities  of  moderate  size. 
The  tribe  amongst  which  I  had  fallen  was  limited  to  twelve 
thousand  families.  Each  tribe  occupied  a  territory  sufficient 
for  all  its  wants,  and  at  stated  periods  the  surplus  population 
departed  to  seek  a  realm  of  its  own.  There  appeared  no  ne- 
cessity for  any  arbitrary  selection  of  these  emigrants;  there 
was  always  a  sufiicient  number  who  volunteered  to  depart. 

These  subdivided  States,  petty  if  we  regard  either  territory 
or  population,  all  appertained  to  one  vast  general  family. 
They  spoke  the  same  language,  though  the  dialects  might 
slightly  differ.  They  intermarried;  they  maintained  the  same 
general  laws  and  customs;  and  so  important  a  bond  between 
these  several  communities  was  the  knowledge  of  vril  and  the 
practice  of  its  agencies,  that  the  word  A- Vril  was  synonymous 
with  civilization;  and  Vril-ya,  signifying  "The  Civilized  Na- 


278  THE   COMING  RACE. 

tions,"  was  the  common  name  by  which  the  communities  em- 
ploying the  uses  of  vril  distinguished  themselves  from  such 
of  the  Ana  as  were  yet  in  a  state  of  barbarism. 

The  government  of  the  tribe  of  Vril-ya  I  am  treating  of  was 
apparently  very  complicated,  really  very  simple.  It  was  based 
upon  a  principle  recognized  in  theory,  though  little  carried 
out  in  practice,  above  ground, —  namely,  that  the  object  of  all 
systems  of  philosophical  thought  tends  to  the  attainment  of 
unity,  or  the  ascent  through  all  intervening  labyrinths  to  the 
simplicity  of  a  single  first  cause  or  principle.  Thus  in  poli- 
tics, even  republican  writers  have  agreed  that  a  benevolent 
autocracy  would  insure  the  best  administration,  if  there  were 
any  guarantees  for  its  continuance,  or  against  its  gradual 
abuse  of  the  powers  accorded  to  it.  This  singular  community 
elected  therefore  a  single  supreme  magistrate  styled  "Tur;  " 
he  held  his  office  nominally  for  life,  but  he  could  seldom  be 
induced  to  retain  it  after  the  first  approach  of  old  age.  There 
was  indeed  in  this  society  nothing  to  induce  any  of  its  mem- 
bers to  covet  the  cares  of  office.  No  honours,  no  insignia  of 
higher  rank  were  assigned  to  it.  The  supreme  magistrate  was 
not  distinguished  from  the  rest  by  superior  habitation  or  rev- 
enue. On  the  other  hand,  the  duties  awarded  to  him  were 
marvellously  light  and  easy,  requiring  no  preponderant  de- 
gree of  energy  or  intelligence.  There  being  no  apprehensions 
of  war,  there  were  no  armies  to  maintain;  being  no  govern- 
ment of  force,  there  was  no  police  to  appoint  and  direct. 
What  we  call  crime  was  utterly  unknown  to  the  Vril-ya;  and 
there  were  no  courts  of  criminal  justice.  The  rare  instances 
of  civil  disputes  were  referred  for  arbitration  to  friends  chosen 
by  either  party,  or  decided  by  the  Council  of  Sages,  which 
will  be  described  later.  There  were  no  professional  lawyers; 
and  indeed  their  laws  were  but  amicable  conventions,  for  there 
was  no  power  to  enforce  laws  against  an  offender  who  carried 
in  his  staff  the  power  to  destroy  his  judges.  There  were  cus- 
toms and  regulations  to  compliance  with  which,  for  several 
ages,  the  people  had  tacitly  habituated  themselves ;  or  if  in 
any  instance  an  individual  felt  such  compliance  hard,  he 
quitted  the  community  and  went  elsewhere.     There  was,  iu 


THE  COMING  RACE.  279 

fact,  quietly  established  amid  this  State  much  the  same  com- 
pact that  is  found  in  our  private  families,  in  which  we  virtu- 
ally say  to  any  independent  grown-up  member  of  the  family 
whom  we  receive  and  entertain,  "  Stay  or  go,  according  as  our 
habits  and  regulations  suit  or  displease  you."  But  though 
there  were  no  laws  such  as  we  call  laws,  no  race  above  ground 
is  so  law-observing.  Obedience  to  the  rule  adopted  by  the 
community  has  become  as  much  an  instinct  as  if  it  were  im- 
planted by  nature.  Even  in  every  household  the  head  of  it 
makes  a  regulation  for  its  guidance,  which  is  never  resisted 
nor  even  cavilled  at  by  those  who  belong  to  the  family.  They 
have  a  proverb,  the  pithiness  of  which  is  much  lost  in  this 
paraphrase,  "No  happiness  without  order,  no  order  without 
authority,  no  authority  without  unity."  The  mildness  of  all 
government  among  them,  civil  or  domestic,  may  be  signalized 
by  their  idiomatic  expressions  for  such  terms  as  illegal  or 
forbidden, — namely,  "It  is  requested  not  to  do  so-and-so." 
Poverty  among  the  Ana  is  as  unknown  as  crime;  not  that 
property  is  held  in  common,  or  that  all  are  equals  in  the 
extent  of  their  possessions  or  the  size  and  luxury  of  their 
habitations :  but  there  being  no  difference  of  rank  or  position 
between  the  grades  of  wealth  or  the  choice  of  occupations, 
each  pursues  his  own  inclinations  without  creating  envy  or 
vying;  some  like  a  modest,  some  a  more  splendid  kind  of  life; 
each  makes  himself  happy  in  his  own  way.  Owing  to  this 
absence  of  competition,  and  the  limit  placed  on  the  popula- 
tion, it  is  difficult  for  a  family  to  fall  into  distress ;  there  are 
no  hazardous  speculations,  no  emulators  striving  for  superior 
wealth  and  rank.  No  doubt,  in  each  settlement  all  originally 
had  the  same  proportions  of  land  dealt  out  to  them ;  but  some, 
more  adventurous  than  others,  had  extended  their  possessions 
farther  into  the  bordering  wilds,  or  had  improved  into  richer 
fertility  the  produce  of  their  fields,  or  entered  into  commerce 
or  trade.  Thus,  necessarily,  some  had  grown  richer  than 
others,  but  none  had  become  absolutely  poor,  or  wanting  any- 
thing which  their  tastes  desired.  If  they  did  so,  it  was 
always  in  their  power  to  migrate,  or  at  the  worst  to  apply, 
without  shame  and  with  certainty  of  aid,  to  the  rich;  for  all 


280  THE  COMING   RACE. 

the  members  of  the  community  considered  themselves  as 
brothers  of  one  affectionate  and  united  family.  More  upon 
this  head  will  be  treated  of  incidentally  as  my  narrative 
proceeds. 

The  chief  care  of  the  supreme  magistrate  was  to  communi- 
cate with  certain  active  departments  charged  with  the  admin- 
istration of  special  details.  The  most  important  and  essential 
of  such  details  was  that  connected  with  the  due  provision  of 
light.  Of  this  department  my  host,  Aph-Lin,  was  the  chief. 
Another  department,  which  might  be  called  the  foreign,  com- 
municated with  the  neighbouring  kindred  States,  principally 
for  the  purpose  of  ascertaining  all  new  inventions ;  and  to  a 
third  department,  all  such  inventions  and  improvements  in 
machinery  were  committed  for  trial.  Connected  with  this 
department  was  the  College  of  Sages, —  a  college  especially 
favoured  by  such  of  the  Ana  as  were  widowed  and  childless, 
and  by  the  young  unmarried  females,  amongst  whom  Zee  was 
the  most  active,  and,  if  what  we  call  renown  or  distinction 
was  a  thing  acknowledged  by  this  people  (which  I  shall  later 
show  it  is  not),  among  the  most  renowned  or  distinguished. 
It  is  by  the  female  Professors  of  this  College  that  those  studies 
which  are  deemed  of  least  use  in  practical  life  —  as  purely 
speculative  philosophy,  the  history  of  remote  periods,  and 
such  sciences  as  entomology,  conchology,  etc.  —  are  the  more 
diligently  cultivated.  Zee,  whose  mind,  active  as  Aristotle's, 
equally  embraced  the  largest  domains  and  the  minutest  details 
of  thought,  had  written  two  volumes  on  the  parasite  insect 
that  dwells  amid  the  hairs  of  a  tiger's  ^  paw,  which  work  was 
considered  the  best  authority  on  that  interesting  subject.  But 
the  researches  of  the  sages  are  not  confined  to  such  subtle  or 
elegant  studies.     They  comprise  various  others  more  impor- 

1  The  animal  here  referred  to  has  many  points  of  difference  from  the  tiger 
of  the  upper  world.  It  is  larger,  and  with  a  broader  paw,  and  still  more 
receding  frontal.  It  haunts  the  sides  of  lakes  and  pools,  and  feeds  princi- 
pally on  fishes,  though  it  does  not  object  to  any  terrestrial  animal  of  inferior 
strength  that  comes  in  its  way.  It  is  becoming  very  scarce  even  in  the  wild 
districts,  where  it  is  devoured  by  gigantic  reptiles.  I  apprehend  that  it 
clearly  belongs  to  the  tiger  species,  since  the  parasite  animalcule  found  in  its 
paw,  like  that  found  in  the  Asiatic  tiger's,  is  a  miniature  image  of  itself. 


THE   COMING  RACE.  281 

taut,  and  especially  the  properties  of  vril,  to  the  perception 
of  which  their  finer  nervous  organization  renders  the  female 
Professors  eminently  keen.  It  is  out  of  this  college  that  the 
Tur,  or  chief  magistrate,  selects  Councillors,  limited  to  three, 
in  the  rare  instances  in  which  novelty  of  event  or  circum- 
stance perplexes  his  own  judgment. 

There  are  a  few  other  departments  of  minor  consequence, 
but  all  are  carried  on  so  noiselessly  and  quietly  that  the  evi- 
dence of  a  government  seems  to  vanish  altogether,  and  social 
order  to  be  as  regular  and  unobtrusive  as  if  it  were  a  law  of 
nature.  Machinery  is  employed  to  an  inconceivable  extent 
in  all  the  operations  of  labour  within  and  without  doors,  and 
it  is  the  unceasing  object  of  the  department  charged  with  its 
administration  to  extend  its  efficiency.  There  is  no  class  of 
labourers  or  servants,  but  all  who  are  required  to  assist  or 
control  the  machinery  are  found  in  the  children,  from  the 
time  they  leave  the  care  of  their  mothers  to  the  marriageable 
age,  which  they  place  at  sixteen  for  the  Gy-ei  (the  females), 
twenty  for  the  Ana  (the  males).  These  children  are  formed 
into  bands  and  sections  under  their  own  chiefs,  each  follow- 
ing the  pursuits  in  which  he  is  most  pleased,  or  for  which  he 
feels  himself  most  fitted.  Some  take  to  handicrafts,  some  to 
agriculture,  some  to  household  work,  and  some  to  the  only 
services  of  danger  to  which  the  population  is  exposed;  for 
the  sole  perils  that  threaten  this  tribe  are,  first,  from  those 
occasional  convulsions  within  the  earth,  to  foresee  and  guard 
against  which  tasks  their  utmost  ingenuity, —  irruptions  of 
fire  and  water,  the  storms  of  subterranean  winds  and  escaping 
gases.  At  the  borders  of  the  domain,  and  at  all  places  where 
such  peril  might  be  apprehended,  vigilant  inspectors  are  sta- 
tioned with  telegraphic  communication  to  the  hall  in  which 
chosen  sages  take  it  by  turns  to  hold  perpetual  sittings. 
These  inspectors  are  always  selected  from  the  elder  boys  ap- 
proaching the  age  of  puberty,  and  on  the  principle  that  at 
that  age  observation  is  more  acute  and  the  physical  forces 
more  alert  than  at  any  other.  The  second  service  of  danger, 
less  grave,  is  in  the  destruction  of  all  creatures  hostile  to  the 
life,  or  the  culture,  or  even  the  comfort,  of  the  Ana.    Of  these 


282  THE  COMING  RACE. 

the  most  formidable  are  the  vast  reptiles,  of  some  of  which 
antediluvian  relics  are  preserved  in  our  museums,  and  certain 
gigantic  winged  creatures,  half  bird,  half  reptile.     These,  to- 
gether with  lesser  wild  animals,  corresponding  to  our  tigers 
or  venomous  serpents,  it  is  left  to  the  younger  children  to 
hunt  and  destroy;  because,  according  to  the  Ana,  here  ruth- 
lessness  is  wanted,  and  the  younger  a  child  the  more  ruth- 
lessly he  will  destroy.     There  is  another  class  of  animals  in 
the  destruction  of  which  discrimination  is  to  be  used,  and 
against  which  children  of  intermediate  age  are  appointed, — 
animals  that  do  not  threaten  the  life  of  man,  but  ravage  the 
produce  of  his  labour,  —  varieties  of  the  elk  and  deer  species, 
and  a  smaller  creature  much  akin  to  our  rabbit,  though  infi- 
nitely more  destructive  to  crops,  and  much  more  cunning  in 
its  mode  of  depredation.     It  is  the  first  object  of  these  ap- 
pointed infants  to  tame  the  more  intelligent  of  such  animals 
into  respect  for  enclosures  signalized  by  conspicuous  land- 
marks, as  dogs  are  taught  to  respect  a  larder,  or  even  to  guard 
the  master's  property.     It  is  only  where  such  creatures  are 
found    untamable  to   this   extent  that   they   are    destroyed. 
Life  is  never  taken  away  for  food  or  for  sport,  and  never 
spared  where  untamably  inimical  to  the  Ana.     Concomitantly 
with  these  bodily  services  and  tasks,  the  mental  education  of 
the  children  goes  on  till  boyhood  ceases.     It  is  the  general 
custom,  then,  to  pass  through  a  course  of  instruction  at  the 
College  of  Sages,  in  which,  besides  more  general  studies,  the 
pupil  receives  special  lessons  in  such  vocation  or  direction  of 
intellect  as  he   himself   selects.     Some,   however,   prefer   to 
pass  this  period  of  probation  in  travel,  or  to  emigrate,  or  to 
settle  down  at  once  into  rural  or  commercial  pursuits.     Ko 
force  is  put  upon  individual  inclination. 


THE  COMING  llACE.  283 


CHAPTER  X. 

The  word  Ana  (pronounced  broadly  Arjia)  corresponds 
with  our  plural  men;  An  (pronounced  Am),  the  singular, 
with  man.  The  word  for  woman  is  Gy  (pronounced  hard,  as 
in  Guy);  it  forms  itself  into  Gy-ei  for  the  plural,  but  the  G 
becomes  soft  in  the  plural,  like  Jy-ei.  They  have  a  proverb 
to  the  effect  that  this  difference  in  pronunciation  is  symboli- 
cal, for  that  the  female  sex  is  soft  collectively,  but  hard  to 
deal  with  in  the  individual.  The  Gy-ei  are  in  the  fullest  en- 
joyment of  all  the  rights  of  equality  with  males,  for  which 
certain  philosophers  above  ground  contend. 

In  childhood  they  perform  the  offices  of  work  and  labour 
impartially  with  boys;  and,  indeed,  in  the  earlier  age  appro- 
priated to  the  destruction  of  animals  irreclaimably  hostile, 
the  girls  are  frequently  preferred,  as  being  by  constitution 
more  ruthless  under  the  influence  of  fear  or  hate.  In  the  in- 
terval between  infancy  and  the  marriageable  age  familiar 
intercourse  between  the  sexes  is  suspended.  At  the  marriage- 
able age  it  is  renewed,  never  with  worse  consequences  than 
those  which  attend  upon  marriage.  All  arts  and  vocations 
allotted  to  the  one  sex  are  open  to  the  other,  and  the  Gy-ei 
arrogate  to  themselves  a  superiority  in  all  those  abstruse  and 
mystical  branches  of  reasoning,  for  which  they  say  the  Ana 
are  unfitted  by  a  duller  sobriety  of  understanding,  or  the 
routine  of  their  matter-of-fact  occupations,  just  as  young 
ladies  in  our  own  world  constitute  themselves  authorities  in 
the  subtlest  points  of  theological  doctrine,  for  which  few  men, 
actively  engaged  in  worldly  business,  have  sufficient  learning 
or  refinement  of  intellect.  Whether  owing  to  early  training 
in  gymnastic  exercises,  or  to  their  constitutional  organization, 
the  Gy-ei  are  usually  superior  to  the  Ana  in  physical  strength 
(an  important  element  in  the  consideration  and  maintenance 
of  female  rights).     They  attain  to  loftier  stature,  and  amid 


284  THE  COMING  RACE. 

their  rounder  proportions  are  embedded  sinews  and  muscles 
as  hardy  as  those  of  the  other  sex.  Indeed  they  assert  that, 
according  to  the  original  laws  of  nature,  females  were  in- 
tended to  be  larger  than  males,  and  maintain  this  dogma  by 
reference  to  the  earliest  formations  of  life  in  insects,  and  in 
the  most  ancient  family  of  the  vertebrata, —  namely,  fishes, — 
in  both  of  which  the  females  are  generally  large  enough  to 
make  a  meal  of  their  consorts  if  they  so  desire.  Above  all, 
the  Gy-ei  have  a  readier  and  more  concentrated  power  over 
that  mysterious  fluid  or  agency  which  contains  the  element  of 
destruction,  with  a  larger  portion  of  that  sagacity  which  com- 
prehends dissimulation.  Thus  they  can  not  only  defend 
themselves  against  all  aggressions  from  the  males,  but  could, 
at  any  moment  when  he  least  suspected  his  danger,  terminate 
the  existence  of  an  offending  spouse.  To  the  credit  of  the 
Gy-ei  no  instance  of  their  abuse  of  this  awful  superiority  in. 
the  art  of  destruction  is  on  record  for  several  ages.  The  last 
that  occurred  in  the  community  I  speak  of  appears  (according 
to  their  chronology)  to  have  been  about  two  thousand  years 
ago.  A  Gy,  then  in  a  fit  of  jealousy,  slew  her  husband;  and 
this  abominable  act  inspired  such  terror  among  the  males  that 
they  emigrated  in  a  body  and  left  all  the  Gy-ei  to[themselves. 
The  history  runs  that  the  widowed  Gy-ei,  thus  reduced  to  de- 
spair, fell  upon  the  murderess  when  in  her  sleep  (and  there- 
fore unarmed),  and  killed  her,  and  then  entered  into  a  solemn 
obligation  amongst  themselves  to  abrogate  forever  the  exercise 
of  their  extreme  conjugal  powers,  and  to  inculcate  the  same 
obligation  for  ever  and  ever  on  their  female  children.  By  this 
conciliatory  process,  a  deputation  despatched  to  the  fugitive 
consorts  succeeded  in  persuading  many  to  return,  but  those 
who  did  return  were  mostly  the  elder  ones.  The  younger, 
either  from  too  craven  a  doubt  of  their  consorts,  or  too  high 
an  estimate  of  their  own  merits,  rejected  all  overtures,  and, 
remaining  in  other  communities,  were  caught  up  there  by 
other  mates,  with  whom  perhaps  they  were  no  better  off.  But 
the  loss  of  so  large  a  portion  of  the  male  youth  operated  as  a 
salutary  warning  on  the  Gy-ei,  and  confirmed  them  in  the 
pious  resolution  to  which  they  had  pledged  themselves.     In- 


THE  COMIXG  RACE.  285 

deed  it  is  now  popularly  considered  that,  by  long  hereditary 
disuse,  the  Gy-ei  have  lost  both  the  aggressive  and  the  defen- 
sive superiority  over  the  Ana  which  they  once  possessed,  just 
as  in  the  inferior  animals  above  the  earth  many  peculiarities 
in  their  original  formation,  intended  by  nature  for  their  pro- 
tection, gradually  fade  or  become  inoperative  when  not  needed 
under  altered  circumstances.  I  should  be  sorry,  however,  for 
any  An  who  induced  a  Gy  to  make  the  experiment  whether  he 
or  she  were  the  stronger. 

From  the  incident  I  have  narrated,  the  Ana  date  certain 
alterations  in  the  marriage  customs,  tending,  perhaps,  some- 
what to  the  advantage  of  the  male.  They  now  bind  them- 
selves in  wedlock  only  for  three  years;  at  the  end  of  each 
third  year  either  male  or  female  can  divorce  the  other  and  is 
free  to  marry  again.  At  the  end  of  ten  years  the  An  has  the 
privilege  of  taking  a  second  wife,  allowing  the  first  to  retire 
if  she  so  please.  These  regulations  are  for  the  most  part  a 
dead  letter;  divorces  and  polygamy  are  extremely  rare,  and 
the  marriage  state  now  seems  singularly  happy  and  serene 
among  this  astonishing  people, —  the  Gy-ei,  notwithstanding 
their  boastful  superiority  in  physical  strength  and  intellectual 
abilities,  being  much  curbed  into  gentle  manners  by  the  dread 
of  separation  or  of  a  second  wife,  and  the  Ana  being  very 
much  the  creatures  of  custom,  and  not,  except  under  great 
aggravation,  liking  to  exchange  for  hazardous  novelties  faces 
and  manners  to  which  they  are  reconciled  by  habit.  But 
there  is  one  privilege  the  Gy-ei  carefully  retain,  and  the  de- 
sire for  which  perhaps  forms  the  secret  motive  of  most  lady 
asserters  of  woman  rights  above  ground.  They  claim  the 
privilege,  here  usurped  by  men,  of  proclaiming  their  love  and 
urging  their  suit, —  in  other  words,  of  being  the  wooing  party 
rather  than  the  wooed.  Such  a  phenomenon  as  an  old  maid 
does  not  exist  among  the  Gy-ei.  Indeed  it  is  very  seldom 
that  a  Gy  does  not  secure  any  An  upon  whom  she  sets  her 
heart,  if  his  affections  be  not  strongly  engaged  elsewhere. 
However  coy,  reluctant,  and  prudish  the  male  she  courts  may 
prove  at  first,  yet  her  perseverance,  her  ardour,  her  persua- 
sive powers,  her  command  over  the  mystic  agencies  of  vril, 


286  THE  COMING  RACE. 

are  pretty  sure  to  run  down  his  neck  into  what  we  call  "the 
fatal  noose."  Their  argument  for  the  reversal  of  that  rela- 
tionship of  the  sexes  which  the  blind  tyranny  of  man  has  es- 
tablished on  the  surface  of  the  earth,  appears  cogent,  and  is 
advanced  with  a  frankness  which  might  well  be  commended 
to  impartial  consideration.  They  say,  that  of  the  two  the 
female  is  by  nature  of  a  more  loving  disposition  than  the 
male;  that  love  occupies  a  larger  space  in  her  thoughts,  and 
is  more  essential  to  her  happiness,  and  that  therefore  she 
ought  to  be  the  wooing  party;  that  otherwise  the  male  is  a 
shy  and  dubitant  creature,  that  he  has  often  a  selfish  predilec- 
tion for  the  single  state,  that  he  often  pretends  to  misunder- 
stand tender  glances  and  delicate  hints, —  that,  in  short,  he 
must  be  resolutely  pursued  and  captured.  They  add,  more- 
over, that  unless  the  Gy  can  secure  the  An  of  her  choice,  and 
one  whom  she  would  not  select  out  of  the  whole  world  be- 
comes her  mate,  she  is  not  only  less  happy  than  she  otherwise 
would  be,  but  she  is  not  so  good  a  being,  that  her  qualities  of 
heart  are  not  sufiiciently  developed ;  whereas  the  An  is  a  crea- 
ture that  less  lastingly  concentrates  his  affections  on  one  ob- 
ject; that  if  he  cannot  get  the  Gy  whom  he  prefers  he  easily 
reconciles  himself  to  another  Gy;  and,  finally,  that  at  the 
worst,  if  he  is  loved  and  taken  care  of,  it  is  less  necessary  to 
the  welfare  of  his  existence  that  he  should  love  as  well  as  be 
loved;  he  grows  contented  with  his  creature  comforts,  and  the 
many  occupations  of  thought  which  he  creates  for  himself. 

Whatever  may  be  said  as  to  this  reasoning,  the  system 
works  well  for  the  male;  for  being  thus  sure  that  he  is  truly 
and  ardently  loved,  and  that  the  more  coy  and  reluctant  he 
shows  himself,  the  more  the  determination  to  secure  him  in- 
creases, he  generally  contrives  to  make  his  consent  dependent 
on  such  conditions  as  he  thinks  the  best  calculated  to  insure, 
if  not  a  blissful,  at  least  a  peaceful  life.  Each  individual  Au 
has  his  own  hobbies,  his  own  ways,  his  own  predilections, 
and,  whatever  they  may  be,  he  demands  a  promise  of  full  and 
unrestrained  concession  to  them.  This,  in  the  pursuit  of  her 
object,  the  Gy  readily  promises;  and  as  the  characteristic  of 
this  extraordinary  people  is  an  implicit  veneration  for  truth, 


THE  COMING  RACE.  287 

and  her  word  once  given  is  never  broken  even  by  the  giddiest 
Gy,  the  conditions  stipnlated  for  are  religiously  observed.  In 
fact,  notwithstanding  all  their  abstract  rights  and  powers,  the 
Gy-ei  are  the  most  amiable,  conciliatory,  and  submissive  wives 
I  have  ever  seen  even  in  the  happiest  households  above 
ground.  It  is  an  aphorism  among  them  that  "where  a  Gy 
loves  it  is  her  pleasure  to  obey."  It  will  be  observed  that  in 
the  relationship  of  the  sexes  I  have  spoken  only  of  marriage, 
for  such  is  the  moral  perfection  to  which  this  community  has 
attained,  that  any  illicit  connection  is  as  little  possible 
amongst  them  as  it  would  be  to  a  couple  of  linnets  during  the 
time  they  agreed  to  live  in  pairs. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

Nothing  had  more  perplexed  me  in  seeking  to  reconcile 
my  sense  to  the  existence  of  regions  extending  below  the  sur- 
face of  the  earth,  and  habitable  by  beings,  if  dissimilar  from, 
still,  in  all  material  points  of  organism,  akin  to  those  in  the 
upper  world,  than  the  contradiction  thus  presented  to  the  doc- 
trine in  which,  I  believe,  most  geologists  and  philosophers 
concur, —  namel}^,  that  though  with  us  the  sun  is  the  great 
source  of  heat,  yet  the  deeper  we  go  beneath  the  crust  of  the 
earth,  the  greater  is  the  increasing  heat,  being,  it  is  said, 
found  in  the  ratio  of  a  degree  for  every  foot,  commencing 
from  fifty  feet  below  the  surface.  But  though  the  domains 
of  the  tribe  I  speak  of  were,  on  the  higher  ground,  so  com- 
paratively near  to  the  surface  that  I  could  account  for  a  tem- 
perature, therein,  suitable  to  organic  life,  yet  even  the  ravines 
and  valleys  of  that  realm  were  much  less  hot  than  philoso- 
phers would  deem  possible  at  such  a  depth, —  certainly  not 
warmer  than  the  south  of  France,  or  at  least  of  Italy.  And 
according  to  all  the  accounts  I  received,  vast  tracts  immeasur- 
ably deeper  beneath  the  surface,  and  in  which  one  might  have 


288  THE  COMING  RACE. 

thought  only  salamanders  could  exist,  were  inhabited  by  in- 
numerable races  organized  like  ourselves.  I  cannot  pretend 
in  any  way  to  account  for  a  fact  which  is  so  at  variance  with 
the  recognized  laws  of  science,  nor  could  Zee  much  help  me 
towards  a  solution  of  it.  She  did  but  conjecture  that  suffi- 
cient allowance  had  not  been  made  by  our  philosophers  for 
the  extreme  porousness  of  the  interior  earth,  the  vastness  of 
its  cavities  and  irregularities,  which  served  to  create  free  cur- 
rents of  air  and  frequent  winds,  and  for  the  various  modes  in 
which  heat  is  evaporated  and  thrown  off.  She  allowed,  how- 
ever, that  there  was  a  depth  at  which  the  heat  was  deemed  to 
be  intolerable  to  such  organized  life  as  was  known  to  the  ex- 
perience of  the  Vril-ya,  though  their  philosophers  believed 
that  even  in  such  places  life  of  some  kind,  life  sentient,  life 
intellectual,  would  be  found  abundant  and  thriving,  could  the 
philosophers  penetrate  to  it.  "Wherever  the  All-Good  builds," 
said  she,  "there,  be  sure.  He  places  inhabitants.  He  loves 
not  empty  dwellings."  She  added,  however,  that  many 
changes  in  temperature  and  climate  had  been  effected  by  the 
skill  of  the  Vril-ya,  and  that  the  agency  of  vril  had  been 
successfully  employed  in  such  changes.  She  described  a  sub- 
tle and  life-giving  medium  called  Lai,  which  I  suspect  to  be 
identical  with  the  ethereal  oxygen  of  Dr.  Lewins,  wherein 
work  all  the  correlative  forces  united  under  the  name  of  vril ; 
and  contended  that  wherever  this  medium  could  be  expanded, 
as  it  were,  sufficiently  for  the  various  agencies  of  vril  to  have 
ample  play,  a  temperature  congenial  to  the  highest  forms  of 
life  could  be  secured.  She  said  also  that  it  was  the  belief  of 
their  naturalists  that  flowers  and  vegetation  had  been  pro- 
duced originally  (whether  developed  from  seeds  borne  from 
the  surface  of  the  earth  in  the  earlier  convulsions  of  nature, 
or  imported  by  the  tribes  that  first  sought  refuge  in  cavernous 
hollows)  through  the  operations  of  the  light  constantly  brought 
to  bear  on  them,  and  the  gradual  improvement  in  culture. 
She  said  also,  that  since  the  vril  light  had  superseded  all 
other  light-giving  bodies,  the  colours  of  flower  and  foliage 
had  become  more  brilliant,  and  vegetation  had  acquired  larger 
growth. 


THE  COMING  RACE.  289 

Leaving  these  matters  to  the  consideration  of  those  better 
competent  to  deal  with  them,  I  must  now  devote  a  few  pages 
to  the  very  interesting  questions  connected  with  the  language 
of  the  Vril-ya. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

The  language  of  the  Vril-ya  is  peculiarly  interesting,  be- 
cause it  seems  to  me  to  exhibit  with  great  clearness  the  traces 
of  the  three  main  transitions  through  which  language  passes 
in  attaining  to  perfection  of  form. 

One  of  the  most  illustrious  of  recent  philologists,  Max 
Miiller,  in  arguing  for  the  analogy  between  the  strata  of  lan- 
guage and  the  strata  of  the  earth,  lays  down  this  absolute 
dogma :  — 

"  No  language  can,  by  any  possibility,  be  inflectional  without  hav- 
ing passed  through  the  agglutinative  and  isolating  stratum.  No 
language  can  be  agglutinative  without  clinging  with  its  roots  to  the 
underlying  stratum  of  isolation."^ 

Taking  then  the  Chinese  language  as  the  best  existing  type 
of  the  original  isolating  stratum,  "as  the  faithful  photograph 
of  man  in  his  leading-strings  trying  the  muscles  of  his  mind, 
groping  his  way,  and  so  delighted  with  his  first  successful 
grasps  that  he  repeats  them  again  and  again,"  ^  —  we  have,  in 
the  language  of  the  Vril-ya,  still  "  clinging  with  its  roots  to 
the  underlying  stratum,"  the  evidences  of  the  original  isola- 
tion. It  abounds  in  monosyllables,  which  are  the  foundations 
of  the  language.  The  transition  into  the  agglutinative  form 
marks  an  epoch  that  must  have  gradually  extended  through 
ages,  the  written  literature  of  which  has  only  survived  in  a 
few  fragments  of  symbolical  mythology  and  certain  pithy  sen- 
tences which  have  passed  into  popular  proverbs.  With  the 
extant  literature  of  the  Vril-ya  the  inflectional  stratum  com- 
mences.    No  doubt  at  that  time  there   must  have  operated 

1  On  the  Stratification  of  Language,  p.  20. 

2  Max  Miiller,  Stratification  of  Language,  p.  13. 

19 


290  THE  COMING  RACE. 

concurrent  causes,  in  the  fusion  of  races  by  some  dominant 
people,  and  the  rise  of  some  great  literary  phenomena  by 
which  the  form  of  language  became  arrested  and  fixed.  As 
the  inflectional  stage  prevailed  over  the  agglutinative,  it  is 
surprising  to  see  how  much  more  boldly  the  original  roots  of 
the  language  project  from  the  surface  that  conceals  them.  In 
the  old  fragments  and  proverbs  of  the  preceding  stage  the 
monosyllables  which  compose  those  roots  vanish  amidst  words 
of  enormous  length,  comprehending  whole  sentences  from 
which  no  one  part  can  be  disentangled  from  the  other  and  em- 
ployed separately.  But  when  the  inflectional  form  of  lan- 
guage became  so  far  advanced  as  to  have  its  scholars  and 
grammarians,  they  seem  to  have  united  in  extirpating  all 
such  polysynthetical  or  polysyllabic  monsters,  as  devouring 
invaders  of  the  aboriginal  forms.  Words  beyond  three  sylla- 
bles became  proscribed  as  barbarous,  and  in  proportion  as  the 
language  grew  thus  simplified  it  increased  in  strength,  in  dig- 
nity, and  in  sweetness.  Though  now  very  compressed  in 
sound,  it  gains  in  clearness  by  that  compression.  By  a  single 
letter,  according  to  its  position,  they  contrive  to  express  all 
that  with  civilized  nations  in  our  upper  world  it  takes-  the 
waste,  sometimes  of  syllables,  sometimes  of  sentences,  to  ex- 
press. Let  me  here  cite  one  or  two  instances :  An  (which  I 
will  translate  man),  Ana  (men) ;  the  letter  S  is  with  them  a 
letter  implying  multitude,  according  to  where  it  is  placed; 
Sana  means  mankind;  Ansa,  a  multitude  of  men.  The  prefix 
of  certain  letters  in  their  alphabet  invariably  denotes  com- 
pound significations.  For  instance,  Gl  (which  with  them  is 
a  single  letter,  as  Th  is  a  single  letter  with  the  Greeks)  at  the 
commencement  of  a  word  infers  an  assemblage  or  union  of 
things,  sometimes  kindred,  sometimes  dissimilar, —  as  Oon,  a 
house;  Gloon,  a  town  (that  is,  an  assemblage  of  houses).  Ata 
is  sorrow ;  Glata,  a  public  calamity.  Aur-an  is  the  health  or 
well-being  of  a  man;  Glauran,  the  well-being  of  the  State, 
the  good  of  the  community;  and  a  word  constantly  in  their 
mouths  is  A -glauran,  which  denotes  their  political  creed, — 
namely,  that  "  the  first  principle  of  a  community  is  the  good 
of  all."     Aub  is  invention;  Sila,  a  tone  in  music.     Glaubsila, 


THE   COMING   RACE.  291 

as  uniting  the  ideas  of  invention  and  of  musical  intonation,  is 
the  classical  word  for  poetry, —  abbreviated  in  ordinary  con- 
versation to  Glaubs.  Na,  which  with  them  is,  like  Gl,  but  a 
single  letter,  always,  when  an  initial,  im[)lies  something  an- 
tagonistic to  life  or  joy  or  comfort,  resembling  in  this  the 
Aryan  root  ISTak,  expressive  of  perishing  or  destruction.  Kax 
is  darkness;  Narl,  death;  Naria,  sin  or  evil;  Nas  —  an  utter- 
most condition  of  sin  and  evil,  —  corruption.  In  writing,  they 
deem  it  irreverent  to  express  the  Supreme  Being  by  any 
special  name.  He  is  symbolized  by  what  may  be  termed  the 
hieroglyphic  of  a  pyramid,  A.  In  prayer  they  address  Him 
by  a  name  which  they  deem  too  sacred  to  confide  to  a  stranger, 
and  I  know  it  not.  In  conversation  they  generally  use  a  peri- 
phrastic epithet,  such  as  the  All-Good.  The  letter  V,  sym- 
bolical of  the  inverted  pyramid,  where  it  is  an  initial,  nearly 
always  denotes  excellence  or  power;  as  Vril,  of  which  I  have 
said  so  much;  Veed,  an  immortal  spirit;  Veedya,  immor- 
tality. Koom,  pronounced  like  the  Welsh  Cwm,  denotes 
something  of  hollowness.  Koom  itself  is  a  profound  hollow, 
metaphorically  a  cavern;  Koom-in,  a  hole;  Zi-koom,  a  valley; 
Koom-zi,  vacancy  or  void;  Bodh-koora,  ignorance  (literally, 
knowledge-void).  Koom-Posh  is  their  name  for  the  govern- 
ment of  the  many,  or  the  ascendancy  of  the  most  ignorant  or 
hollow.  Posh  is  an  almost  untranslatable  idiom  implying,  as 
the  reader  will  see  later,  contempt.  The  closest  rendering  I 
can  give  to  it  is  our  slang  term  "bosh; "  and  thus  Koom-Posh 
may  be  loosely  rendered  "Hollow-Bosh."  But  when  Democ- 
racy or  Koom-Posh  degenerates  from  popular  ignorance  into 
that  popular  passion  or  ferocity  which  precedes  its  decease,  as 
(to  cite  illustrations  from  the  upper  world)  during  the  French 
Keign  of  Terror,  or  for  the  fifty  years  of  the  Eoman  Republic 
preceding  the  ascendancy  of  Augustus,  their  name  for  that 
state  of  things  is  Glek-Kas.  Ek  is  strife ;  Glek,  the  universal 
strife;  Nas,  as  I  before  said,  is  corruption  or  rot,  —  thus  Glek- 
Nas  may  be  construed  "the  universal  strife-rot."  Their  com- 
pounds are  very  expressive;  thus,  Bodh  being  knowledge,  and 
Too,  a  participle  that  implies  the  action  of  cautiously  ap- 
proaching, Too-bodh  is  their  word  for  Philosophy.     Pah  is  a 


292  THE  COMING  RACE. 

contemptuous  exclamation  analogous  to  our  idiom,  "stuff  and 
nonsense ;  "  Pah-bodh  (literally,  stuff -and-nonsense-knowledge) 
is  their  term  for  futile  or  false  philosophy,  and  is  applied  to  a 
species  of  metaphysical  or  speculative  ratiocination  formerly 
in  vogue,  which  consisted  in  making  inquiries  that  could  not 
be  answered,  and  were  not  worth  making, —  such,  for  in- 
stance, as,  "  Why  does  an  An  have  five  toes  to  his  feet  instead 
of  four  or  six?"  "Did  the  first  An,  created  by  the  All-Good, 
have  the  same  number  of  toes  as  his  descendants?"  "In  the 
form  by  which  an  An  will  be  recognized  by  his  friends  in  the 
future  state  of  being,  will  he  retain  any  toes  at  all,  and,  if 
so,  will  they  be  material  toes  or  spiritual  toes?"  I  take 
these  illustrations  of  Pah-bodh,  not  in  irony  or  jest,  but  be- 
cause the  very  inquiries  I  name  formed  the  subject  of  contro- 
versy by  the  latest  cultivators  of  that  "  science  "  four  thousand 
years  ago. 

In  the  declension  of  nouns  I  was  informed  that  anciently 
there  were  eight  cases  (one  more  than  in  the  Sanskrit  Gram- 
mar) ;  but  the  effect  of  time  has  been  to  reduce  these  cases, 
and  multiply,  instead  of  these  varying  terminations,  explana- 
tory prepositions.  At  present,  in  the  Grammar  submitted  to 
my  study,  there  were  four  cases  to  nouns,  three  having  vary- 
ing terminations,  and  the  fourth  a  differing  prefix. 


Singular. 

Plural. 

Norn. 

An, 

Man. 

Norn. 

Ana, 

Men. 

Dat. 

A  no, 

to  Man. 

Dat. 

Anoi, 

to  Men. 

Ac. 

Anam, 

Man. 

Ac. 

Ananda, 

Men 

Voc. 

Hil-An 

0  Man. 

Voc. 

Hil-Ananda, 

0  Men. 

In  the  elder  inflectional  literature  the  dual  form  existed ;  it 
has  long  been  obsolete. 

The  genitive  case  with  them  is  also  obsolete;  the  dative 
supplies  its  place:  they  say  the  house  to  a  man,  instead  of 
the  house  of  a  man.  When  used  (sometimes  in  poetry),  the 
genitive  in  the  termination  is  the  same  as  the  nominative;  so 
is  the  ablative,  the  preposition  that  marks  it  being  a  prefix  or 
suffix  at  option,  and  generally  decided  by  ear,  according  to  the 
sound  of  the  noun.  It  will  be  observed  that  the  prefix  Hil 
marks  the  vocative  case.     It  is  always  retained  in  addressing 


THE  COMING  RACE.  293 

another,  except  in  the  most  intimate  domestic  relations;  its 
omission  would  be  considered  rude :  just  as  in  our  old  forms 
of  speech  in  addressing  a  king  it  would  have  been  deemed  dis- 
respectful to  say  "King,"  and  reverential  to  say  "O  King." 
In  fact,  as  they  have  no  titles  of  honour,  the  vocative  adjura- 
tion supplies  the  place  of  a  title,  and  is  given  impartially  to 
all.  The  prefix  Hil  enters  into  the  composition  of  words  that 
imply  distant  communications,  as  Hil-ya,  to  travel. 

In  the  conjugation  of  their  verbs,  which  is  much  too  lengthy 
a  subject  to  enter  on  here,  the  auxiliary  verb  Ya,  "to  go," 
which  plays  so  considerable  a  part  in  the  Sanskrit,  appears 
and  performs  a  kindred  office,  as  if  it  were  a  radical  in  some 
language  from  which  both  had  descended.  But  another  aux- 
iliary of  opposite  signification  also  accompanies  it  and  shares 
its  labours, —  namely,  Zi,  to  stay  or  repose.  Thus  Ya  enters 
into  the  future  tense,  and  Zi  in  the  preterite  of  all  verbs  re- 
quiring auxiliaries.  Yam,  I  go,  Yiam,  I  may  go,  Yaui-ya,  I 
shall  go  (literally,  I  go  to  go),  Zampoo-yan,  I  have  gone 
(literally,  I  rest  from  gone).  Ya,  as  a  termination,  implies 
by  analogy  progress,  movement,  effloresence.  Zi,  as  a  termi- 
nal, denotes  fixity,  sometimes  in  a  good  sense,  sometimes  in  a 
bad,  according  to  the  word  with  which  it  is  coupled.  Iva-zi, 
eternal  goodness;  Nan-zi,  eternal  evil.  Poo  (from)  enters  as 
a  prefix  to  words  that  denote  repugnance,  or  things  from 
which  we  ought  to  be  averse:  Poo-pra,  disgust;  Poo-naria, 
falsehood,  the  vilest  kind  of  evil.  Poosh,  or  Posh,  I  have 
already  confessed  to  be  untranslatable  literally.  It  is  an  ex- 
pression of  contempt  not  unmixed  with  pity.  This  radical 
seems  to  have  originated  from  inherent  sympathy  between  the 
labial  effort  and  the  sentiment  that  impelled  it.  Poo  being  an 
utterance  in  which  the  breath  is  exploded  from  the  lips  with 
more  or  less  vehemence.  On  the  other  hand,  Z,  when  an  in- 
itial, is  with  them  a  sound  in  which  the  breath  is  sucked  in- 
ward, and  thus  Zu,  pronounced  Zoo  (which  in  their  language 
is  one  letter),  is  the  ordinary  prefix  to  words  that  signify 
something  that  attracts,  pleases,  touches  the  heart, —  as  Zum- 
mer,  lover;  Zutze,  love;  Zuzulia,  delight.  This  indrawn 
sound  of  Z  seems  indeed  naturally  appropriate  to  fondness. 


294  THE  COMING  RACE. 

Thus,  even  in  our  language,  mothers  say  to  their  babies,  in 
defiance  of  grammar,  "Zoo  darling;"  and  I  have  heard  a 
learned  professor  at  Boston  call  his  wife  (he  had  been  only 
married  a  month)  "Zoo  little  pet." 

I  cannot  quit  this  subject,  however,  without  observing  by 
what  slight  changes  in  the  dialects  favoured  by  different 
tribes  of  the  same  race,  the  original  signification  and  beauty 
of  sounds  may  become  confused  and  deformed.  Zee  told  me 
with  much  indignation  that  Zummer  (lover),  which,  in  the 
way  she  uttered  it,  seemed  slowly  taken  down  to  the  very 
depths  of  her  heart,  was,  in  some  not  very  distant  communi- 
ties of  the  Vril-ya,  vitiated  into  the  half -hissing,  half -nasal, 
wholly  disagreeable,  sound  of  Subber.  I  thought  to  myself 
it  only  wanted  the  introduction  of  n  before  u  to  render  it  into 
an  English  word  significant  of  the  last  quality  an  amorous  Gy 
would  desire  in  her  Zummer. 

I  will  but  mention  another  peculiarity  in  this  language 
which  gives  equal  force  and  brevity  to  its  forms  of  ex- 
pressions. 

A  is  with  them,  as  with  us,  the  first  letter  of  the  alphabet, 
and  is  often  used  as  a  prefix  word  by  itself  to  convey  a  com- 
plex idea  of  sovereignty  or  chiefdom,  or  presiding  principle. 
For  instance,  Iva  is  goodness;  Diva,  goodness  and  haj)piness 
united;  A-Diva  is  unerring  and  absolute  truth.  I  have  al- 
ready noticed  the  value  of  A  in  A-glauran;  so,  in  vril  (to 
whose  properties  they  trace  their  present  state  of  civilization), 
A-vril,  denotes,  as  I  have  said,  civilization  itself. 

The  philologist  will  have  seen  from  the  above  how  much 
the  language  of  the  Vril-ya  is  akin  to  the  Aryan  or  Indo- 
Germanic;  but,  like  all  languages,  it  contains  words  and 
forms  in  which  transfers  from  very  opposite  sources  of  speech 
have  been  taken.  The  very  title  of  Tur,  which. they  give  to 
their  supreme  magistrate,  indicates  theft  from  a  tongue  akin 
to  the  Turanian.  They  say  themselves  that  this  is  a  foreign 
word  borrowed  from  a  title  which  their  historical  records 
show  to  have  been  borne  by  the  chief  of  a  nation  with  whom 
the  ancestors  of  the  Vril-ya  were,  in  very  remote  periods,  on 
friendly  terms,  but  which  has  long  become  extinct;  and  they 


THE   COMING   RACE.  295 

say  that  when,  after  the  discovery  of  vril,  they  remodelled 
their  political  institutions,  they  expressly  adopted  a  title 
taken  from  an  extinct  race  and  a  dead  language  for  that  of 
their  chief  magistrate,  in  order  to  avoid  all  title.s  for  that 
office  with  which  they  had  previous  associations. 

Should  life  be  spared  to  me,  I  may  collect  into  systematic 
form  such  knowledge  as  I  acquired  of  this  language  during 
my  sojourn  amongst  the  Vril-ya.  But  what  I  have  already 
said  will  perhaps  suffice  to  show  to  genuine  philological  stu- 
dents that  a  language  which,  preserving  so  many  of  the  roots 
in  the  aboriginal  form,  and  clearing  from  the  immediate,  but 
transitory,  poly  synthetical  stage  so  many  rude  incumbrances, 
has  attained  to  such  a  union  of  simplicity  and  compass  in  its 
final  inflectional  forms,  must  have  been  the  gradual  work  of 
countless  ages  and  many  varieties  of  mind;  that  it  contains 
the  evidence  of  fusion  between  congenial  races,  and  necessi- 
tated, in  arriving  at  the  shape  of  which  I  have  given  exam- 
ples, the  continuous  culture  of  a  highly  thoughtful  people. 

That,  nevertheless,  the  literature  which  belongs  to  this  lan- 
guage is  a  literature  of  the  past;  that  the  present  felicitous 
state  of  society  at  which  the  Ana  have  attained  forbids  the 
progressive  cultivation  of  literature,  especially  in  the  two 
main  divisions  of  fiction  and  history, —  I  shall  have  occasion 
to  show  later. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

This  people  have  a  religion,  and,  whatever  may  be  said 
against  it,  at  least  it  has  these  strange  peculiarities:  firstly, 
that  they  all  believe  in  the  creed  they  profess ;  secondly,  that 
they  all  practise  the  precepts  which  the  creed  inculcates. 
They  unite  in  the  worship  of  the  one  divine  Creator  and  Sus- 
tainer  of  the  universe.  They  believe  that  it  is  one  of  the 
properties  of  the  all-permeating  agency  of  vril  to  transmit  to 
the  well-spring  of  life  and  intelligence  every  thought  that  a 


296  THE   COMING   RACE. 

living  creature  can  conceive;  and  though  they  do  not  contend 
that  the  idea  of  a  Deity  is  innate,  yet  they  say  that  the  An 
(man)  is  the  only  creature,  so  far  as  their  observation  of  na- 
ture extends,  to  whom  the  cajyacity  of  conceiving  tJiat  idea, 
with  all  the  trains  of  thought  which  open  out  from  it,  is 
vouchsafed.  They  hold  that  this  capacity  is  a  privilege  that 
cannot  have  been  given  in  vain,  and  hence  that  prayer  and 
thanksgiving  are  acceptable  to  the  divine  Creator,  and  neces- 
sary to  the  complete  development  of  the  human  creature. 
They  offer  their  devotions  both  in  private  and  public.  Not 
being  considered  one  of  their  species,  I  was  not  admitted  into 
the  building  or  temple  in  which  the  public  worship  is  ren- 
dered; but  I  am  informed  that  the  service  is  exceedingly 
short,  and  unattended  with  any  pomp  of  ceremony.  It  is  a 
doctrine  with  the  Vril-ya  that  earnest  devotion  or  complete 
abstraction  from  the  actual  world  cannot,  with  benefit  to  it- 
self, be  maintained  long  at  a  stretch  by  the  human  mind,  es- 
pecially in  public,  and  that  all  attempts  to  do  so  either  lead 
to  fanaticism  or  to  hypocrisy.  When  they  pray  in  private,  it 
is  when  they  are  alone  or  with  their  young  children. 

They  say  that  in  ancient  times  there  was  a  great  number  of 
books  written  upon  speculations  as  to  the  nature  of  the  Deity, 
and  upon  the  forms  of  belief  or  worship  supposed  to  be  most 
agreeable  to  Him;  but  these  were  found  to  lead  to  such  heated 
and  angry  disputations  as  not  only  to  shake  the  peace  of  the 
community  and  divide  families  before  the  most  united,  but  in 
the  course  of  discussing  the  attributes  of  the  Deity,  the  exist- 
ence of  the  Deity  Himself  became  argued  away,  or,  what  was 
worse,  became  invested  with  the  passions  and  infirmities  of 
the  human  disputants.  "For,"  said  my  host,  "since  a  finite 
being  like  an  An  cannot  possibly  define  the  Infinite,  so,  when 
he  endeavours  to  realize  an  idea  of  the  Divinity,  he  only  re- 
duces the  Divinity  into  an  An  like  himself."  During  the 
later  ages,  therefore,  all  theological  speculations,  though  not 
forbidden,  have  been  so  discouraged  as  to  have  fallen  utterly 
into  disuse. 

The  Vril-ya  unite  in  a  conviction  of  a  future  state,  more 
felicitous  and  more  perfect  than  the  present.     If  they  have 


THE   COMING   RACE.  297 

very  vague  notions  of  the  doctrine  of  rewards  and  punish- 
ments, it  is  perhaps  because  they  have  no  systems  of  rewards 
and  punishments  among  themselves,  for  there  are  no  crimes 
to  punish,  and  their  moral  standard  is  so  even  that  no  An 
among  them  is,  upon  the  whole,  considered  more  virtuous  than 
another.  If  one  excels,  perhaps,  in  one  virtue,  another  equally 
excels  in  some  other  virtue;  if  one  has  his  prevalent  fault  or 
infirmity,  so  also  another  has  his.  In  fact,  in  their  extraordi- 
nary mode  of  life,  there  are  so  few  temptations  to  wrong,  that 
they  are  good  (according  to  their  notions  of  goodness)  merely 
because  they  live.  They  have  some  fanciful  notions  upon  the 
continuance  of  life,  when  once  bestowed,  even  in  the  vegetable 
world,  as  the  reader  will  see  in  the  next  chapter. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Though,  as  I  have  said,  the  Vril-ya  discourage  all  specula- 
tions on  the  nature  of  the  Supreme  Being,  they  appear  to 
concur  in  a  belief  by  which  they  think  to  solve  that  great 
problem  of  the  existence  of  evil  which  has  so  perplexed  the 
philosophy  of  the  upper  world.  They  hold  that  wherever  He 
has  once  given  life,  with  the  perceptions  of  that  life,  however 
faint  it  be,  as  in  a  plant,  the  life  is  never  destroyed ;  it  passes 
into  new  and  improved  forms,  though  not  in  this  planet  (dif- 
fering therein  from  the  ordinary  doctrine  of  metempsychosis), 
and  that  the  living  thing  retains  the  sense  of  identity,  so  that 
it  connects  its  past  life  with  its  future,  and  is  consciovs  of  its 
progressive  improvement  in  the  scale  of  joy.  For  they  say 
that,  without  this  assumption,  they  cannot,  according  to  the 
lights  of  human  reason  vouchsafed  to  them,  discover  the  per- 
fect justice  which  must  be  a  constituent  quality  of  the  All- 
Wise  and  the  All-Good.  Injustice,  they  say,  can  only  emanate 
from  three  causes :  want  of  wisdom  to  perceive  what  is  just, 
want  of  benevolence  to  desire,  want  of  power  to  fulfil  it;  and 
that  each  of  these  three  wants  is  incompatible  in  the  All-Wise, 


298  THE  COMING  RACE. 

the  All-Good,  the  All-Powerful ;  but  that  while,  even  in  this 
life,  the  wisdom,  the  benevolence,  and  the  power  of  the  Su- 
preme Being  are  sufficiently  apparent  to  compel  our  recogni- 
tion, the  justice  necessarily  resulting  from  those  attributes 
absolutely  requires  another  life,  not  for  man  only,  but  for 
every  living  thing  of  the  inferior  orders;  that,  alike  in  the 
animal  and  the  vegetable  world,  we  see  one  individual  ren- 
dered, by  circumstances  beyond  its  control,  exceedingly 
wretched  compared  to  its  neighbours, —  one  only  exists  as 
the  prey  of  another, —  even  a  plant  suffers  from  disease  till 
it  perishes  prematurely,  while  the  plant  next  to  it  rejoices  in 
its  vitality  and  lives  out  its  happy  life  free  from  a  pang;  that 
it  is  an  erroneous  analogy  from  human  infirmities  to  reply  by 
saying  that  the  Supreme  Being  only  acts  by  general  laws, 
thereby  making  his  own  secondary  causes  so  potent  as  to  mar 
the  essential  kindness  of  the  First  Cause;  and  a  still  meaner 
and  more  ignorant  conception  of  the  All-Good  to  dismiss  with 
a  brief  contempt  all  consideration  of  justice  for  the  myriad 
forms  into  which  He  has  infused  life,  and  assume  that  justice 
is  only  due  to  the  single  product  of  the  An.  There  is  no 
small  and  no  great  in  the  eyes  of  the  divine  Life-Giver.  But 
once  grant  that  nothing,  however  humble,  which  feels  that  it 
lives  and  suffers,  can  perish  through  the  series  of  ages;  that 
all  its  suffering  here,  if  continuous  from  the  moment  of  its 
birth  to  that  of  its  transfer  to  another  form  of  being,  would 
be  more  brief  compared  with  eternity  than  the  cry  of  the  new- 
born is  compared  to  the  whole  life  of  a  man ;  and  once  suppose 
that  this  living  thing  retains  its  sense  of  identity  when  so 
transferred  (for  without  that  sense  it  could  be  aware  of  no 
future  being), —  then,  though  indeed  the  fulfilment  of  divine 
justice  is  removed  from  the  scope  of  our  ken,  yet  we  have  a 
right  to  assume  it  to  be  uniform  and  universal,  and  not  vary- 
ing and  partial,  as  it  would  be  if  acting  only  upon  general 
secondary  laws;  because  such  perfect  justice  flows  of  necessity 
from  perfectness  of  knowledge  to  conceive,  perfectness  of  love 
to  will,  and  perfectness  of  power  to  complete  it. 

However  fantastic  this  belief  of  the  Vril-ya  may  be,  it  tends 
perhaps   to  confirm  politically  the  systems   of  government 


THE  COMING  RACE.  299 

which,  admitting  differing  degrees  of  wealth,  yet  establishes 
perfect  equality  in  rank,  exquisite  mildness  in  all  relations 
and  intercourse,  and  tenderness  to  all  created  things  which 
the  good  of  the  community  does  not  require  them  to  destroy. 
And  though  their  notion  of  compensation  to  a  tortured  insect 
or  a  cankered  flower  may  seem  to  some  of  us  a  very  wild 
crotchet,  yet,  at  least,  it  is  not  a  mischievous  one;  and  it 
may  furnish  matter  for  no  unpleasing  reflection  to  think  that 
within  the  abysses  of  earth,  never  lit  by  a  ray  from  the  ma- 
terial heavens,  there  should  have  penetrated  so  luminous  a 
conviction  of  the  ineffable  goodness  of  the  Creator, —  so  fixed 
an  idea  that  the  general  laws  by  which  He  acts  cannot  admit 
of  any  partial  injustice  or  evil,  and  therefore  cannot  be  com- 
prehended without  reference  to  their  action  over  all  space  and 
throughout  all  time.  And  since,  as  I  shall  have  occasion  to 
observe  later,  the  intellectual  conditions  and  social  systems 
of  this  subterranean  race  comprise  and  harmonize  great,  and 
apparently  antagonistic,  varieties  in  philosophical  doctrine 
and  speculation  which  have  from  time  to  time  been  started, 
discussed,  dismissed,  and  have  re-appeared  amongst  thinkers 
or  dreamers  in  the  upper  world, —  so  I  may  perhaps  appropri- 
ately conclude  this  reference  to  the  belief  of  the  Vril-ya  — 
that  self-conscious  or  sentient  life  once  given  is  indestructible 
among  inferior  creatures  as  well  as  in  man  —  by  an  eloquent 
passage  from  the  work  of  that  eminent  zoologist,  Louis 
Agassiz,  which  I  have  only  just  met  with,  many  years  after  I 
had  committed  to  paper  those  recollections  of  the  life  of  the 
Vril-ya  which  I  now  reduce  into  something  like  arrangement 
and  form :  — 

"  The  relations  which  individual  animals  bear  to  one  another  are 
of  such  a  character  that  they  ought  long  ago  to  have  been  considered 
as  sufficient  proof  that  no  organized  being  could  ever  have  been  called 
into  existence  by  other  agency  than  by  the  direct  intervention  of  a 
reflective  mind.  This  argues  strongly  in  favour  of  the  existence  in 
every  animal  of  an  immaterial  principle  similar  to  that  which  by  its 
excellence  and  superior  endowments  places  man  so  much  above  ani- 
mals; yet  the  principle  unquestionably  exists,  and  whether  it  be 
called  sense,  reason,  or  instinct,  it  presents  in  the  whole  range  of 


300  THE  COMING  RACE. 

organized  beings  a  series  of  phenomena  closely  linked  together,  and 
upon  it  are  based  not  only  the  higher  manifestations  of  the  mind, 
but  the  very  permanence  of  the  specific  differences  which  characterize 
every  organism.  Most  of  the  arguments  in  favour  of  the  immortality 
of  man  apply  equally  to  the  permanency  of  this  principle  in  other 
living  beings.  May  1  not  add  that  a  future  life  in  which  man  would 
be  deprived  of  that  great  source  of  enjoyment  and  intellectual  and 
moral  improvement  which  results  from  the  contemplation  of  the 
harmonies  of  an  organic  world  would  involve  a  lamentable  loss?  And 
may  we  not  look  to  a  spiritual  concert  of  the  combined  worlds  and 
all  their  inhabitants  in  the  presence  of  their  Creator  as  the  highest 
conception  of  paradise?  "  ^ 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Kind  to  me  as  I  found  all  in  this  household,  the  young 
daughter  of  my  host  was  the  most  considerate  and  thoughtful 
in  her  kindness.  At  her  suggestion  I  laid  aside  the  habili- 
ments in  which  I  had  descended  from  the  upper  earth,  and 
adopted  the  dress  of  the  Vril-ya,  with  the  exception  of  the 
artful  wings  which  served  them,  when  on  foot,  as  a  graceful 
mantle.  But  as  many  of  the  Vril-ya,  when  occupied  in  urban 
pursuits,  did  not  wear  these  wings,  this  exception  created  no 
marked  difference  between  myself  and  the  race  among  which 
I  sojourned,  and  I  was  thus  enabled  to  visit  the  town  without 
exciting  unpleasant  curiosity.  Out  of  the  household  no  one 
suspected  that  I  had  come  from  the  upper  world,  and  I  was 
but  regarded  as  one  of  some  inferior  and  barbarous  tribe 
whom  Aph-Lin  entertained  as  a  guest. 

The  city  was  large  in  proportion  to  the  territory  round  it, 
which  was  of  no  greater  extent  than  many  an  English  or 
Hungarian  nobleman's  estate;  but  the  whole  of  it,  to  the 
verge  of  the  rocks  which  constituted  its  boundary,  was  culti- 
vated to  the  nicest  degree,  except  where  certain  allotments  of 
mountain  and  pasture  were  humanely  left  free  to  the  suste- 

1  Essay  on  Classification,  sect.  xvii.  pp.  97-99. 


THE   COMING  RACE.  301 

nance  of  the  harmless  animals  they  had  tamed,  though  not  for 
domestic  use.  So  great  is  their  kindness  towards  these  hum- 
bler creatures,  that  a  sum  is  devoted  from  the  public  treasury 
for  the  purpose  of  deporting  them  to  other  Vril-ya  communi- 
ties willing  to  receive  them  (chiefly  new  colonies),  whenever 
they  become  too  numerous  for  the  pastures  allotted  to  them  in 
their  native  place.  They  do  not,  however,  multiply  to  an  ex- 
tent comparable  to  the  ratio  at  which,  with  us,  animals  bred 
for  slaughter  increase.  It  seems  a  law  of  nature  that  animals 
not  useful  to  man  gradually  recede  from  the  domains  he  occu- 
pies, or  even  become  extinct.  It  is  an  old  custom  of  the 
various  sovereign  States  amidst  which  the  race  of  the  Vril-ya 
are  distributed,  to  leave  between  each  State  a  neutral  and  un- 
cultivated border-land.  In  the  instance  of  the  community  I 
speak  of,  this  tract,  being  a  ridge  of  savage  rocks,  was  im- 
passable by  foot,  but  was  easily  surmounted,  whether  by  the 
wings  of  the  inhabitants  or  the  air-boats,  of  which  I  shall 
speak  hereafter.  Roads  through  it  were  also  cut  for  the  tran- 
sit of  vehicles  impelled  by  vril.  These  intercommunicating 
tracts  were  always  kept  lighted,  and  the  expense  thereof  de- 
frayed by  a  special  tax,  to  which  all  the  communities  compre- 
hended in  the  denomination  of  Vril-ya  contribute  in  settled 
proportions.  By  these  means  a  considerable  commercial  traf- 
fic with  other  States,  both  near  and  distant,  was  carried  on. 
The  surplus  wealth  of  this  special  community  was  chiefly 
agricultural.  The  community  was  also  eminent  for  skill  in 
constructing  implements  connected  with  the  arts  of  husban- 
dry. In  exchange  for  such  merchandise  it  obtained  articles 
more  of  luxury  than  necessity.  There  were  few  things  im- 
ported on  which  they  set  a  higher  price  than  birds  taught  to 
pipe  artful  tunes  in  concert.  These  were  brought  from  a 
great  distance,  and  were  marvellous  for  beauty  of  song  and 
plumage.  I  understood  that  extraordinary  care  was  taken  by 
their  breeders  and  teachers  in  selection,  and  that  the  species 
had  wonderfully  improved  during  the  last  few  years.  I  saw 
no  other  pet  animals  among  this  community  except  some  very 
amusing  and  sportive  creatures  of  the  Batrachian  species,  re- 
sembling frogs,  but  with  very  intelligent  countenances,  which 


302  THE   COMING  RACE. 

the  children  were  fond  of,  and  kept  in  their  private  gardens. 
They  appear  to  have  no  animals  akin  to  our  dogs  or  horses, 
though  that  learned  naturalist,  Zee,  informed  me  that  such 
creatures  had  once  existed  in  those  parts,  and  might  now  be 
found  in  regions  inhabited  by  other  races  than  the  Vril-ya. 
She  said  that  they  had  gradually  disappeared  from  the  more 
civilized  world  since  the  discovery  of  vril,  and  the  results 
attending  that  discovery,  had  dispensed  with  their  uses.  Ma- 
chinery and  the  invention  of  wings  had  superseded  the  horse 
as  a  beast  of  burden;  and  the  dog  was  no  longer  wanted  either 
for  protection  or  the  chase,  as  it  had  been  when  the  ancestors 
of  the  Vril-ya  feared  the  aggressions  of  their  own  kind,  or 
hunted  the  lesser  animals  for  food.  Indeed,  however,  so  far 
as  the  horse  was  concerned,  this  region  was  so  rocky  that  a 
horse  could  have  been,  there,  of  little  use  either  for  pastime 
or  burden.  The  only  creature  they  use  for  the  latter  purpose 
is  a  kind  of  large  goat,  which  is  much  employed  on  farms. 
The  nature  of  the  surrounding  soil  in  these  districts  may  be 
said  to  have  first  suggested  the  invention  of  wings  and  air- 
boats.  The  largeness  of  space,  in  proportion  to  the  rural  ter- 
ritory occupied  by  the  city,  was  occasioned  by  the  custom  of 
surrounding  every  house  with  a  separate  garden.  The  broad 
main  street,  in  which  Aph-Lin  dwelt,  expanded  into  a  vast 
square,  in  which  were  placed  the  College  of  Sages  and  all  the 
public  offices, —  a  magnificent  fountain  of  the  luminous  fluid 
which  I  call  naphtha  ( I  am  ignorant  of  its  real  nature)  in  the 
centre.  All  these  public  edifices  have  a  uniform  character  of 
massiveness  and  solidity.  They  reminded  me  of  the  archi- 
tectural pictures  of  ISIartin.  Along  the  upper  stories  of  each 
ran  a  balcony,  or  rather  a  terraced  garden,  supported  by  col- 
umns, filled  with  flowering-plants,  and  tenanted  by  many 
kinds  of  tame  birds.  From  the  square  branched  several 
streets,  all  broad  and  brilliantly  lighted,  and  ascending  up 
the  eminence  on  either  side.  In  my  excursions  in  the  town  I 
was  never  allowed  to  go  alone ;  Aph-Lin  or  his  daughter  was 
my  habitual  companion.  In  this  community  the  adult  Gy  is 
seen  walking  with  any  young  An  as  familiarly  as  if  there 
were  no  difference  of  sex. 


THE  COMING   RACE.  303 

The  retail  shops  are  not  very  numerous ;  the  persons  who 
attend  on  a  customer  are  all  children  of  various  ages,  and  ex- 
ceedingly intelligent  and  courteous,  but  without  the  least 
touch  of  importunity  or  cringing.  The  shopkeeper  himself 
might  or  might  not  be  visible;  when  visible,  he  seemed  rarely 
employed  on  any  matter  connected  with  his  professional  busi- 
ness ;  and  yet  he  had  taken  to  that  business  from  special  lik- 
ing to  it,  and  quite  independently  of  his  general  sources  of 
fortune. 

Some  of  the  richest  citizens  in  the  community  kept  such 
shops.  As  I  have  before  said,  no  difference  of  rank  is  recog- 
nizable, and  therefore  all  occupations  hold  the  same  equal 
social  status.  An  An,  of  whom  I  bought  my  sandals,  was  the 
brother  of  the  Tur,  or  chief  magistrate ;  and  though  his  shop 
was  not  larger  than  that  of  any  bootmaker  in  Bond  Street  or 
Broadway,  he  was  said  to  be  twice  as  rich  as  the  Tur,  who 
dwelt  in  a  palace.  No  doubt,  however,  he  had  some  country- 
seat. 

The  Ana  of  the  community  are,  on  the  whole,  an  indolent 
set  of  beings  after  the  active  age  of  childhood.  Whether  by 
temperament  or  philosophy,  they  rank  repose  among  the  chief 
blessings  of  life.  Indeed,  when  you  take  away  from  a  human 
being  the  incentives  to  action  which  are  found  in  cupidity  or 
ambition,  it  seems  to  me  no  wonder  that  he  rests  quiet. 

In  their  ordinary  movements  they  prefer  the  use  of  their 
feet  to  that  of  their  wings.  But  for  their  sports,  or  (to  in- 
dulge in  a  bold  misuse  of  terms)  their  public  promenades,  they 
employ  the  latter,  also  for  the  aerial  dances  I  have  described, 
as  well  as  for  visiting  their  country-places,  which  are  mostly 
placed  on  lofty  heights;  and,  when  still  young,  they  prefer 
their  wings,  for  travel  into  the  other  regions  of  the  Ana,  to 
vehicular  conveyances. 

Those  who  accustom  themselves  to  flight  can  fly,  if  less 
rapidly  than  some  birds,  yet  from  twenty-five  to  thirty  miles 
an  hour,  and  keep  up  that  rate  for  five  or  six  hours  at  a 
stretch.  But  the  Ana  generally,  on  reaching  middle  age,  are 
not  fond  of  rapid  movements  requiring  violent  exercise.  Per- 
haps for  this  reason,  as  they  hold  a  doctrine  which  our  own 


304  THE  COMING  RACE. 

physicians  will  doubtless  approve, —  namely,  that  regular 
transpiration  through  the  pores  of  the  skin  is  essential  to 
health, —  they  habitually  use  the  sweating-baths  to  which  we 
give  the  name  of  Turkish  or  Roman,  succeeded  by  douches  of 
perfumed  waters.  They  have  great  faith  in  the  salubrious 
virtue  of  certain  perfumes. 

It  is  their  custom  also,  at  stated  but  rare  periods,  perhaps 
four  times  a  year  when  in  health,  to  use  a  bath  charged  with 
vril.^  They  consider  that  this  fluid,  sparingly  used,  is  a 
great  sustainer  of  life ;  but  used  in  excess,  when  in  the  nor- 
mal state  of  health,  rather  tends  to  reaction  and  exhausted 
vitality.  For  nearly  all  their  diseases,  however,  they  resort 
to  it  as  the  chief  assistant  to  nature  in  throwing  off  the 
complaint. 

In  their  own  way  they  are  the  most  luxurious  of  people, 
but  all  their  luxuries  are  innocent.  They  may  be  said  to 
dwell  in  an  atmosphere  of  music  and  fragrance.  Every  room 
has  its  mechanical  contrivances  for  melodious  sounds,  usually 
tuned  down  to  soft-murmured  notes,  which  seem  like  sweet 
whispers  from  invisible  spirits.  They  are  too  accustomed  to 
these  gentle  sounds  to  find  them  a  hindrance  to  conversation, 
nor,  when  alone,  to  reflection.  But  they  have  a  notion  that 
to  breathe  an  air  filled  with  continuous  melody  and  perfume 
has  necessarily  an  effect  at  once  soothing  and  elevating  upon 
the  formation  of  character  and  the  habits  of  thought.  Though 
so  temperate,  and  with  total  abstinence  from  other  animal 
food  than  milk,  and  from  all  intoxicating  drinks,  they  are 
delicate  and  dainty  to  an  extreme  in  food  and  beverage ;  and 
in  all  their  sports  even  the  old  exhibit  a  childlike  gayety. 
Happiness  is  the  end  at  which  they  aim,  not  as  the  excite- 
ment of  a  moment,  but  as  the  prevailing  condition  of  the  en- 
tire existence ;  and  regard  for  the  happiness  of  each  other  is 
evinced  by  the  exquisite  amenity  of  their  manners. 

Their  conformation  of  skull  has  marked  differences  from 

1  I  once  tried  the  effect  of  the  vril  bath.  It  was  very  similar  in  its  invig- 
orating powers  to  that  of  the  baths  at  Gastein,  the  virtnes  of  wliich  are 
ascribed  by  many  physicians  to  electricity ;  but  though  similar,  the  effect  of 
the  vril  bath  was  more  lasting. 


THE  COMING  RACE.  305 

that  of  any  known  races  in  the  upper  worhl,  though  I  cannot 
help  thinking  it  a  development,  in  the  course  of  countless 
ages,  of  the  Brachy cephalic  type  of  the  Age  of  Stone  in 
Lyell's  "Elements  of  Geology,"  ch.  X,  p.  113,  as  compared 
with  the  Dolichocephalic  type  of  the  beginning  of  the  Age  of 
Iron,  correspondent  with  that  now  so  prevalent  amongst  us, 
and  called  the  Celtic  type.  It  has  the  same  comparative 
massiveness  of  forehead,  not  receding  like  the  Celtic,  the 
same  even  roundness  in  the  frontal  organs;  but  it  is  far 
loftier  in  the  apex,  and  far  less  pronounced  in  the  hinder 
cranial  hemisphere  where  phrenologists  place  the  animal 
organs.  To  speak  as  a  phrenologist,  the  cranium  common  to 
the  Vril-ya  has  the  organs  of  weight,  number,  tune,  form, 
order,  causality,  very  largely  developed;  that  of  construction 
much  more  pronounced  than  that  of  ideality.  Those  which 
are  called  the  moral  organs,  such  as  conscientiousness  and 
benevolence,  are  amazingly  full;  amativeness  and  combative- 
ness  are  both  small;  adhesiveness  large;  the  organ  of  de- 
structiveness  (that  is,  of  determined  clearance  of  intervening 
obstacles)  immense,  but  less  than  that  of  benevolence;  and 
their  philoprogenitiveness  takes  rather  the  character  of  com- 
passion and  tenderness  to  things  that  need  aid  or  protection 
than  of  the  animal  love  of  offspring.  I  never  met  with  one 
person  deformed  or  misshapen.  The  beauty  of  their  counte- 
nances is  not  only  in  symmetry  of  feature,  but  in  a  smooth- 
ness of  surface,  which  continues  without  line  or  wrinkle  to 
the  extreme  of  old  age,  and  a  serene  sweetness  of  expression, 
combined  with  that  majesty  which  seems  to  come  from  con- 
sciousness of  power  and  the  freedom  of  all  terror,  physical  or 
moral.  It  is  that  very  sweetness,  combined  with  that  majesty, 
which  inspired  in  a  beholder  like  myself,  accustomed  to  strive 
with  the  passions  of  mankind,  a  sentiment  of  humiliation,  of 
awe,  of  dread.  It  is  such  an  expression  as  a  painter  might 
give  to  a  demi-god,  a  genius,  an  angel.  The  males  of  the 
Vril-ya  are  entirely  beardless;  the  Gy-ei  sometimes,  in  old 
age,  develop  a  small  mustache. 

I  was  surprised  to  find  that  the  colour  of  their  skin  was  not 
uniformly  that  which  I  had  remarked  in  those  individuals 

20 


3t)6  THE  COMIXG  RACE. 

whom  I  had  first  encountered, —  some  being  much  fairer,  and 
even  with  blue  eyes,  and  hair  of  a  deep  golden  auburn,  though 
still  of  complexions  warmer  or  richer  in  tone  than  persons  in 
the  north  of  Europe. 

I  was  told  that  this  admixture  of  colouring  arose  from  in- 
termarriage with  other  and  more  distant  tribes  of  the  Vril-ya, 
who,  whether  by  the  accident  of  climate  or  early  distinction 
of  race,  were  of  fairer  hues  than  the  tribes  of  which  this  com- 
munity formed  one.  It  was  considered  that  the  dark-red  skin 
showed  the  most  ancient  family  of  Ana;  but  they  attached  no 
sentiment  of  pride  to  that  antiquity,  and,  on  the  contrary,  be- 
lieved their  present  excellence  of  breed  came  from  frequent 
crossing  with  other  families  differing,  yet  akin ;  and  the}"  en- 
courage such  intermarriages,  always  provided  that  it  be  with 
the  Vril-ya  nations.  Nations  which,  not  conforming  their 
manners  and  institutions  to  those  of  the  Vril-ya,  nor  indeed 
held  capable  of  acquiring  the  powers  over  the  vril  agencies 
which  it  had  taken  them  generations  to  attain  and  transmit, 
were  regarded  with  more  disdain  than  citizens  of  New  York 
regard  the  negroes. 

I  learned  from  Zee,  who  had  more  lore  in  all  matters  than 
any  male  with  whom  I  was  brought  into  familiar  converse, 
that  the  superiority  of  the  Vril-ya  was  supposed  to  have 
originated  in  the  intensity  of  their  earlier  struggles  against 
obstacles  in  nature  amidst  the  localities  in  which  they  had 
first  settled,  ''Wherever,"  said  Zee,  moralizing,  "wherever 
goes  on  that  early  process  in  the  history  of  civilization  by 
which  life  is  made  a  struggle,  in  which  the  individual 
has  to  put  forth  all  his  powers  to  compete  with  his  fel- 
low, we  invariably  find  this  result,  —  namely,  since  in  the 
competition  a  vast  number  must  perish,  nature  selects  for 
preservation  only  the  strongest  specimens.  With  our  race, 
therefore,  even  before  the  discovery  of  vril,  only  the  highest 
organizations  were  preserved ;  and  there  is  among  our  ancient 
books  a  legend,  once  popularly  believed,  that  we  were  driven 
from  a  region  that  seems  to  denote  the  world  you  come  from, 
in  order  to  perfect  our  condition  and  attain  to  the  purest 
elimination  of  our  species  by  the  severity  of  the  struggles  our 


THE  COMING  RACE.  307 

forefathers  underwent;  and  that,  when  our  education  shall 
become  finally  completed,  we  are  destined  to  return  to  the 
upper  world,  and  supplant  all  the  inferior  races  now  existing 
therein." 

Aph-Lin  and  Zee  often  conversed  with  me  in  private  upon 
the  political  and  social  conditions  of  that  upper  world,  in 
which  Zee  so  philosophically  assumed  that  the  inhabitants 
were  to  be  exterminated  one  day  or  other  by  the  advent  of  the 
Vril-ya.  They  found  in  my  accounts  —  in  which  I  continued 
to  do  all  I  could  (without  launching  into  falsehoods  so  posi- 
tive that  they  would  have  been  easily  detected  by  the  shrewd- 
ness of  my  listeners)  to  present  our  powers  and  ourselves  in 
the  most  flattering  point  of  view  —  perpetual  subjects  of  com- 
parison between  our  most  civilized  populations  and  the  meaner 
subterranean  races  which  they  considered  hopelessly  plunged 
in  barbarism,  and  doomed  to  gradual  if  certain  extinction. 
But  they  both  agreed  in  desiring  to  conceal  from  their  com- 
munity all  premature  opening  into  the  regions  lighted  by  the 
sun ;  both  were  humane,  and  shrunk  from  the  thought  of  an- 
nihilating so  many  millions  of  creatures;  and  the  pictures  I 
drew  of  our  life,  highly  coloured  as  they  were,  saddened 
them.  In  vain  I  boasted  of  our  great  men, —  poets,  philoso- 
phers, orators,  generals, —  and  defied  the  Vril-ya  to  produce 
their  equals.  "Alas!  "  said  Zee,  her  grand  face  softening 
into  an  angel-like  compassion,  "this  predominance  of  the  few 
over  the  many  is  the  surest  and  most  fatal  sign  of  a  race  in- 
corrigibly savage.  See  you  not  that  the  primary  condition  of 
mortal  happiness  consists  in  the  extinction  of  that  strife  and 
competition  between  individuals,  which,  no  matter  what  forms 
of  government  they  adopt,  render  the  many  subordinate  to  the 
few,  destroy  real  liberty  to  the  individual,  whatever  may  be 
the  nominal  liberty  of  the  State,  and  annul  that  calm  of  ex- 
istence, without  which  felicity,  mental  or  bodily,  cannot  be 
attained?  Our  notion  is,  that  the  more  we  can  assimilate  life 
to  the  existence  which  our  noblest  ideas  can  conceive  to  be 
that  of  spirits  on  the  other  side  of  the  grave,  why,  the  more 
we  approximate  to  a  divine  happiness  here,  and  the  more 
easily  we  glide  into  the  conditions  of  being  hereafter.     For, 


808  THE  COMIXG  RACE. 

surely,  all  we  can  imagine  of  tlie  life  of  gods,  or  of  blessed 
immortals,  supposes  tlie  absence  of  self-made  cares  and  con- 
tentious passions,  such,  as  avarice  and  ambition.  It  seems  to 
us  that  it  must  be  a  life  of  serene  tranquillity,  not  indeed 
without  active  occupations  to  the  intellectual  or  spiritual 
powers,  but  occupations,  of  whatsoever  nature  they  be,  con- 
genial to  the  idiosyncrasies  of  each,  not  forced  and  repug- 
nant,—  a  life  gladdened  by  the  untrammelled  interchange  of 
gentle  aifections,  in  which  the  moral  atmosphere  utterly  kills 
hate  and  vengeance  and  strife  and  rivalry.  Such  is  the  politi- 
cal state  to  which  all  the  tribes  and  families  of  the  Vril-ya  seek 
to  attain,  and  towards  that  goal  all  our  theories  of  govern- 
ment are  shaped.  You  see  how  utterly  opposed  is  such  a  pro- 
gress to  that  of  the  uncivilized  nations  from  which  you  come, 
and  which  aim  at  a  systematic  perpetuity  of  troubles  and  cares 
and  warring  passions,  aggravated  more  and  more  as  their  pro- 
gress storms  its  way  onward.  The  most  powerful  of  all  the 
races  in  our  world,  beyond  the  pale  of  the  Vril-ya,  esteems 
itself  the  best  governed  of  all  political  societies,  and  to  have 
reached  in  that  respect  the  extreme  end  at  which  political 
wisdom  can  arrive,  so  that  the  other  nations  should  tend  more 
or  less  to  copy  it.  It  has  established,  on  its  broadest  base, 
the  Koom-Posh, —  namely,  the  government  of  the  ignorant 
upon  the  principle  of  being  the  most  numerous.  It  has 
placed  the  supreme  bliss  in  the  vying  with  each  other  in  all 
things,  so  that  the  evil  passions  are  never  in  repose, —  vying 
for  power,  for  wealth,  for  eminence  of  some  kind;  and  in  this 
rivalry  it  is  horrible  to  hear  the  vituperation,  the  slanders, 
and  calumnies  which  even  the  best  and  naildest  among  them 
heap  on  each  other  without  remorse  or  shame." 

"Some  years  ago,"  said  Aph-Lin,  "I  visited  this  people, 
and  their  misery  and  degradation  were  the  more  appalling 
because  they  were  always  boasting  of  their  felicity  and  grand- 
eur as  compared  with  the  rest  of  their  species ;  and  there  is 
no  hope  that  this  people,  which  evidently  resembles  your  own, 
can  improve,  because  all  their  notions  tend  to  further  deterio- 
ration. They  desire  to  enlarge  their  dominion  more  and 
more,  in  direct  antagonism  to  the  truth  that,  beyond  a  very 


THE  COMING  RACE.  309 

limited  range,  it  is  impossible  to  secure  to  a  community  the 
happiness  which  belongs  to  a  well-ordered  family;  and  the 
more  they  mature  a  system  by  which  a  few  individuals  are 
heated  and  swollen  to  a  size  above  the  standard  slenderness 
of  the  millions,  the  more  they  chuckle  and  exult,  and  cry  out, 
'See  by  what  great  exceptions  to  the  common  littleness  of  our 
race  we  prove  the  magnificent  results  of  our  system !  '  " 

"In  fact,"  resumed  Zee,  "if  the  wisdom  of  human  life  be 
to  approximate  to  the  serene  equality  of  immortals,  there  can 
be  no  more  direct  flying  off  into  the  opposite  direction  than 
a  system  which  aims  at  carrying  to  the  utmost  the  inequali- 
ties and  turbulences  of  mortals.  Nor  do  I  see  how,  by  any 
forms  of  religious  belief,  mortals,  so  acting,  could  fit  them- 
selves even  to  appreciate  the  joys  of  immortals  to  which  they 
still  expect  to  be  transferred  by  the  mere  act  of  dying.  On 
the  contrary,  minds  accustomed  to  place  happiness  in  things 
so  much  the  reverse  of  godlike,  would  find  the  happiness  of 
gods  exceedingly  dull,  and  would  long  to  get  back  to  a  world 
in  which  they  could  quarrel  with  each  other." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

I  HAVE  spoken  so  much  of  the  Vril  Staff  that  my  reader 
may  expect  me  to  describe  it.  This  I  cannot  do  accurately, 
for  I  was  never  allowed  to  handle  it  for  fear  of  some  terrible 
accident  occasioned  by  my  ignorance  of  its  use.  It  is  hollow, 
and  has  in  the  handle  several  stops,  keys,  or  springs  by  which 
its  force  can  be  altered,  modified,  or  directed, —  so  that  by 
one  process  it  destroys,  by  another  it  heals;  by  one  it  can 
rend  the  rock,  by  another  disperse  the  vapour;  by  one  it 
affects  bodies,  by  another  it  can  exercise  a  certain  influence 
over  minds.  It  is  usually  carried  in  the  convenient  size  of  a 
walking-staff,  but  it  has  slides  by  which  it  can  be  lengthened 
or  shortened  at  will.  When  used  for  special  purposes,  the 
upper  part  rests  in  the  hollow  of  the  palm,  with  the  fore  and 


310  THE  COMING  RACE. 

middle  fingers  protruded.  I  was  assured,  however,  that  its 
power  was  not  equal  in  all,  but  proportioned  to  the  amount  of 
certain  vril  properties  in  the  wearer,  in  affinity,  or  rapport, 
with  the  purposes  to  be  effected.  Some  were  more  potent  to 
destroy,  others  to  heal,  etc. ;  much  also  depended  on  the  calm 
and  steadiness  of  volition  in  the  manipulator.  They  assert 
that  the  full  exercise  of  vril  power  can  only  be  acquired  by 
constitutional  temperament, —  that  is,  by  hereditarily  trans- 
mitted organization, —  and  that  a  female  infant  of  four  years 
old  belonging  to  the  Vril-ya  races  can  accomplish  feats  with 
the  wand  placed  for  the  first  time  in  her  hand,  which  a  life 
spent  in  its  practice  would  not  enable  the  strongest  and  most 
skilled  mechanician  born  out  of  the  pale  of  the  Vril-ya  to 
achieve.  All  these  wands  are  not  equally  complicated;  those 
intrusted  to  children  are  much  simpler  than  those  borne  by 
sages  of  either  sex,  and  constructed  with  a  view  to  the 
special  object  in  which  the  children  are  employed,  —  which, 
as  I  have  before  said,  is  among  the  youngest  children  the  most 
destructive.  In  the  wands  of  wives  and  mothers  the  correla- 
tive destroying  force  is  usually  abstracted,  the  healing  power 
fully  charged.  I  wish  I  could  say  more  in  detail  of  this 
singular  conductor  of  the  vril  fluid,  but  its  machinery  is  as 
exquisite  as  its  effects  are  marvellous. 

I  should  say,  however,  that  this  people  have  invented  cer- 
tain tubes  by  which  the  vril  fluid  can  be  conducted  towards 
the  object  it  is  meant  to  destroy,  throughout  a  distance  almost 
indefinite ;  at  least  I  put  it  modestly  when  I  say  from  five  to 
six  hundred  miles.  And  their  mathematical  science  as  ap- 
plied to  such  purpose  is  so  nicely  accurate,  that  on  the  report 
of  some  observer  in  an  air-boat,  any  member  of  the  vril  de- 
partment can  estimate  unerringly  the  nature  of  intervening 
obstacles,  the  height  to  which  the  projectile  instrument  should 
be  raised,  and  the  extent  to  which  it  should  be  charged,  so  as 
to  reduce  to  ashes,  within  a  space  of  time  too  short  for  me  to 
venture  to  specify  it,  a  capital  twice  as  vast  as  London. 

Certainly  these  Ana  are  wonderful  mechanicians, —  wonder- 
ful for  the  adaptation  of  the  inventive  faculty  to  practical 
uses. 


THE  COMING  RACE.  311 

I  went  with  my  host  and  his  daughter  Zee  over  the  great 
public  museum,  which  occupies  a  wing  in  the  College  of  Sages, 
and  in  which  are  hoarded,  as  curious  specimens  of  the  igno- 
rant and  blundering  experiments  of  ancient  times,  many  con- 
trivances on  which  we  pride  ourselves  as  recent  achievements. 
In  one  department,  carelessly  thrown  aside  as  obsolete  lum- 
ber, are  tubes  for  destroying  life  by  metallic  balls  and  an 
inflammable  powder,  on  the  principle  of  our  cannons  and 
catapults,  and  even  still  more  murderous  than  our  latest 
improvements. 

My  host  spoke  of  these  with  a  smile  of  contempt,  such  as 
an  artillery  officer  might  bestow  on  the  bows  and  arrows  of 
the  Chinese.  In  another  department  there  were  models  of 
vehicles  and  vessels  worked  by  steam,  and  of  a  balloon  which 
might  have  been  constructed  by  Montgolfier.  "Such,"  said 
Zee,  with  an  air  of  meditative  wisdom, —  "  such  were  the  feeble 
triflings  with  nature  of  our  savage  forefathers,  ere  they  had 
even  a  glimmering  perception  of  the  properties  of  vril!  " 

This  young  Gy  was  a  magnificent  specimen  of  the  muscular 
force  to  which  the  females  of  her  country  attain.  Her  feat- 
ures were  beautiful,  like  those  of  all  her  race :  never  in  the 
upper  world  have  I  seen  a  face  so  grand  and  so  faultless ;  but 
her  devotion  to  the  severer  studies  had  given  to  her  counte- 
nance an  expression  of  abstract  thought  which  rendered  it 
somewhat  stern  when  in  repose,  and  such  sternness  became 
formidable  when  observed  in  connection  with  her  ample 
shoulders  and  lofty  stature.  She  was  tall  even  for  a  Gy,  and 
I  saw  her  lift  up  a  cannon  as  easily  as  I  could  lift  a  pocket- 
pistol.  Zee  inspired  me  with  a  profound  terror, —  a  terror 
which  increased  when  we  came  into  a  department  of  the 
museum  appropriated  to  models  of  contrivances  worked  by 
the  agency  of  vril ;  for  here,  merely  by  a  certain  play  of  her 
vril  staff,  she  herself  standing  at  a  distance,  she  put  into 
movement  large  and  weighty  substances.  She  seemed  to  en- 
dow them  with  intelligence,  and  to  make  them  comprehend 
and  obey  her  command.  She  setf  complicated  pieces  of  ma- 
chinery into  movement,  arrested  the  movement  or  continued 
it,  until,  within  an  incredibly  short  time,  various  kinds  of 


312  THE  COMING  RACE. 

raw  material  were  reproduced  as  symmetrical  works  of  art, 
complete  and  perfect.  Whatever  effect  mesmerism  or  electro- 
biology  produces  over  the  nerves  and  muscles  of  animated 
objects,  this  young  Gy  produced  by  the  motions  of  her  slender 
rod  over  the  springs  and  wheels  of  lifeless  mechanism. 

When  I  mentioned  to  my   companions  my   astonishment 
at  this  influence  over  inanimate  matter, —  while  owning  that, 
in  our  world,  I  had  witnessed  phenomena  which  showed  that 
over  certain  living  organizations  certain  other  living  organi- 
zations could  establish  an  influence  genuine  in  itself,    but 
often  exaggerated  by  credulity  or  craft, —  Zee,  who  was  more 
interested  in  such  subjects  than  her  father,  bade  me  stretch 
forth  my  hand,  and  then,  placing  her  own  beside  it,  she  called 
my  attention  to  certain  distinctions  of  type  and  character. 
In  the  first  place,  the  thumb  of  the  Gy  (and,  as  I  afterwards 
noticed,  of  all  that  race,  male  or  female)  was  much  larger,  at 
once  longer  and  more  massive,  than  is  found  with  our  species 
above  ground.     There  is  almost,  in  this,  as  great  a  difference 
as  there  is  between  the  thumb  of  a  man  and  that  of  a  gorilla. 
Secondly,  the  palm  is  proportionately  thicker  than  ours,  the 
texture  of  the  skin  infinitely  finer  and  softer,   its  average 
warmth  is  greater.     More  remarkable  than  all  this,  is  a  visi- 
ble nerve,  perceptible  under  the  skin,  which  starts  from  the 
wrist  skirting  the  ball  of  the  thumb,  and  branching,  fork- 
like, at  the  roots  of  the  fore  and  middle  fingers.     "With 
your   slight   formation   of    thumb,"   said   the    philosophical 
young  Gy,   "and  with  the  absence  of  the  nerve  which  you 
find  more  or  less  developed  in  the  hands  of  our  race,  you  can 
never  achieve  other  than  imperfect  and  feeble  power  over  the 
agency  of  vril;  but  so  far  as  the  nerve  is  concerned,  that  is 
not  found  in  the  hands  of  our  earliest  progenitors,  nor  in 
those  of  the  ruder  tribes  without  the  pale  of  the  Vril-ya.     It 
has  been  slowly  developed  in  the  course  of  generations,  com- 
mencing in  the  early  achievements,  and  increasing  with  the 
continuous   exercise,    of  the   vril   power;    therefore,    in   the 
course  of  one  or  two  thousand  years,  such  a  nerve  may  possi- 
bly be  engendered  in  those  higher  beings  of  your  race  who 
devote  themselves  to  that  paramount  science  through  which 


THE  COMING  RACE.  313 

is  attained  command  over  all  the  subtler  forces  of  nature  per- 
meated by  vril.  But  when  you  talk  of  matter  as  something 
in  itself  inert  and  motionless,  your  parents  or  tutors  surely 
cannot  have  left  you  so  ignorant  as  not  to  know  that  no  form 
of  matter  is  motionless  and  inert :  every  particle  is  constantly 
in  motion  and  constantly  acted  upon  by  agencies,  of  which 
heat  is  the  most  apparent  and  rapid,  but  vril  the  most  subtle, 
and,  when  skilfully  wielded,  the  most  powerful.  So  that,  in 
fact,  the  current  launched  by  my  hand  and  guided  by  my  will 
does  but  render  quicker  and  more  potent  the  action  which  is 
eternally  at  work  upon  every  particle  of  matter,  however  inert 
and  stubborn  it  may  seem.  If  a  heap  of  metal  be  not  capable 
of  originating  a  thought  of  its  own,  yet,  through  its  internal 
susceptibility  to  movement,  it  obtains  the  power  to  receive 
the  thought  of  the  intellectual  agent  at  work  on  it ;  and  which, 
when  conveyed  with  a  sufficient  force  of  the  vril  power,  it  is 
as  much  compelled  to  obey  as  if  it  were  displaced  by  a  visible 
bodily  force.  It  is  animated  for  the  time  being  by  the  soul 
thus  infused  into  it,  so  that  one  may  almost  say  that  it  lives 
and  it  reasons.  Without  this  we  could  not  make  our  auto- 
mata supply  the  place  of  servants." 

I  was  too  much  in  awe  of  the  thews  and  the  learning  of  the 
young  Gy  to  hazard  the  risk  of  arguing  with  her.  I  had  read 
somewhere  in  my  schoolboy  days  that  a  wise  man,  disputing 
with  a  Roman  emperor,  suddenly  drew  in  his  horns ;  and  when 
the  emperor  asked  him  whether  he  had  nothing  further  to  say 
on  his  side  of  the  question,  replied,  "Nay,  Caesar,  there  is 
no  arguing  against  a  reasoner  who  commands  twenty-five 
legions." 

Though  I  had  a  secret  persuasion  that,  whatever  the  real 
effects  of  vril  upon  matter,  JsIt.  Faraday  could  have  proved 
her  a  very  shallow  philosopher  as  to  its  extent  or  its  causes, 
I  had  no  doubt  that  Zee  could  have  brained  all  the  Fellows  of 
the  Koyal  Society,  one  after  the  other,  with  a  blow  of  her 
fist.  Every  sensible  man  knovv^s  that  it  is  useless  to  argue 
with  any  ordinary  female  upon  matters  he  comprehends ;  but 
to  argue  with  a  Gy  seven  feet  high  upon  the  mysteries  of  vril 
—  as  well  argue  in  a  desert,  and  with  a  simoom! 


314  THE  COMIXG  RACE. 

Amid  the  various  departments  to  which  the  vast  building  of 
the  College  of  Sages  was  appropriated,  that  which  interested 
me  most  was  devoted  to  the  archaeology  of  the  Vril-ya,  and 
comprised  a  very  ancient  collection  of  portraits.  In  these 
the  pigments  and  groundwork  employed  were  of  so  durable  a 
nature  that  even  pictures  said  to  be  executed  at  dates  as  remote 
as  those  in  the  earliest  annals  of  the  Chinese  retained  much 
freshness  of  colour.  In  examining  this  collection,  two  things 
especially  struck  me, —  firstly.  That  the  pictures  said  to  be 
between  six  and  seven  thousand  years  old  were  of  a  much 
higher  degree  of  art  than  any  produced  within  the  last  three 
or  four  thousand  years;  and,  secondly,  That  the  portraits 
within  the  former  period  much  more  resembled  our  own  upper 
world  and  European  types  of  countenance.  Some  of  them, 
indeed,  reminded  me  of  the  Italian  heads  which  look  out  from 
the  canvas  of  Titian,  speaking  of  ambition  or  craft,  of  care  or 
of  grief,  with  furrows  in  which  the  passions  have  passed  with 
iron  ploughshare.  These  were  the  countenances  of  men  who 
had  lived  in  struggle  and  conflict  before  the  discovery  of  the 
latent  forces  of  vril  had,  changed  the  character  of  society, — 
men  who  had  fought  with  each  other  for  power  or  fame  as  we 
in  the  upper  world  fight. 

The  type  of  face  began  to  evince  a  marked  change  about  a 
thousand  years  after  the  vril  revolution,  becoming  then,  with 
each  generation,  more  serene,  and  in  that  serenity  more  ter- 
ribly distinct  from  the  faces  of  labouring  and  sinful  men; 
while  in  proportion  as  the  beauty  and  the  grandeur  of  the 
countenance  itself  became  more  fully  developed,  the  art  of 
the  painter  became  more  tame  and  monotonous. 

But  the  greatest  curiosity  in  the  collection  was  that  of 
three  portraits  belonging  to  the  pre-historical  age,  and,  ac- 
cording to  mythical  tradition,  taken  by  the  orders  of  a  phi- 
losopher, whose  origin  and  attributes  were  as  much  mixed  up 
with  symbolical  fable  as  those  of  an  Indian  Budh  or  a  Greek 
Prometheus. 

From  this  mysterious  personage,  at  once  a  sage  and  a  hero, 
all  the  principal  sections  of  the  Vril-ya  race  pretend  to  trace 
a  common  origin. 


THE  COMING  RACE.  315 

The  portraits  are  of  the  philosopher  himself,  of  his  grand- 
father, and  great-grandfather.  They  are  all  at  full  length. 
The  philosopher  is  attired  in  a  long  tunic  which  seems  to 
form  a  loose  suit  of  scaly  armour,  borrowed,  perhaps,  from 
some  fish  or  reptile:  but  the  feet  and  hands  are  exposed;  the 
digits  in  both  are  wonderfully  long,  and  webbed.  He  has 
little  or  no  perceptible  throat,  and  a  low  receding  forehead, 
not  at  all  the  ideal  of  a  sage's.  He  has  bright  brown  promi- 
nent eyes,  a  very  wide  mouth  and  high  cheek-bones,  and  a 
muddy  complexion.  According  to  tradition,  this  philosopher 
had  lived  to  a  patriarchal  age,  extending  over  many  centuries, 
and  he  remembered  distinctly  in  middle  life  his  grandfather 
as  surviving,  and  in  childhood  his  great-grandfather;  the 
portrait  of  the  first  he  had  taken,  or  caused  to  be  taken, 
while  yet  alive,  that  of  the  latter  was  taken  from  his  effigies 
in  mummy.  The  portrait  of  the  grandfather  had  the  features 
and  aspect  of  the  philosopher,  only  much  more  exaggerated; 
he  was  not  dressed,  and  the  colour  of  his  body  was  singular, 
—  the  breast  and  stomach  yellow,  the  shoulders  and  legs  of  a 
dull  bronze  hue :  the  great-grandfather  was  a  magnificent  speci- 
men of  the  Batrachian  genus,  a  Giant  Frog,  pur  et  simple. 

Among  the  pithy  sayings  which,  according  to  tradition,  the 
philosopher  bequeathed  to  posterity  in  rhythmical  form  and 
sententious  brevity,  this  is  notably  recorded :  "  Humble  your- 
selves, my  descendants;  the  father  of  your  race  was  a  tirat 
(tadpole) :  exalt  yourselves,  my  descendants,  for  it  was  the 
same  Divine  Thought  which  created  your  father  that  develops 
itself  in  exalting  you." 

Aph-Lin  told  me  this  fable  while  I  gazed  on  the  three  Ba- 
trachian portraits.  I  said  in  reply :  "  You  make  a  jest  of  my 
supposed  ignorance  and  credulity  as  an  uneducated  Tish;  but 
though  these  horrible  daubs  may  be  of  great  antiquity,  and 
were  intended,  perhaps,  for  some  rude  caricature,  I  presume 
that  none  of  your  race,  even  in  the  less  enlightened  ages,  ever 
believed  that  the  great-grandson  of  a  Frog  became  a  senten- 
tious philosopher;  or  that  any  section,  I  will  not  say  of  the 
lofty  Vril-ya,  but  of  the  meanest  varieties  of  the  human  race, 
had  its  origin  in  a  Tadpole." 


316  THE  COMING  EACE. 

"Pardon  me,"  answered  Aph-Lin.  "In  what  we  call  the 
Wrangling  or  Philosophical  Period  of  History,  which  was  at 
its  height  about  seven  thousand  years  ago,  there  was  a  very 
distinguished  naturalist,  who  proved  to  the  satisfaction  of 
numerous  disciples  such  analogical  and  anatomical  agreements 
in  structure  between  an  An  and  a  Frog,  as  to  show  that  out 
of  the  one  must  have  developed  the  other.  They  had  some 
diseases  in  common;  they  were  both  subject  to  the  same  para- 
sitical worms  in  the  intestines ;  and,  strange  to  say,  the  An 
has,  in  his  structure,  a  swimming-bladder,  no  longer  of  any 
use  to  him,  but  which  is  a  rudiment  that  clearly  proves  his 
descent  from  a  Frog.  Nor  is  there  any  argument  against 
this  theory  to  be  found  in  the  relative  difference  of  size,  for 
there  are  still  existent  in  our  world  Frogs  of  a  size  and  stature 
not  inferior  to  our  own,  and  many  thousand  years  ago  they 
appear  to  have  been  still  larger." 

"I  understand  that,"  said  I,  "because  Frogs  thus  enormous 
are,  according  to  our  eminent  geologists,  who  perhaps  saw 
them  in  dreams,  said  to  have  been  distinguished  inhabitants 
of  the  upper  world  before  the  Deluge ;  and  such  Frogs  are  ex- 
actly the  creatures  likely  to  have  flourished  in  the  lakes  and 
morasses  of  your  subterranean  regions.     But  pray,  proceed." 

"In  the  Wrangling  Period  of  History,  whatever  one  sage 
asserted  another  sage  was  sure  to  contradict.  In  fact,  it  was 
a  maxim  in  that  age  that  the  human  reason  could  only  be  sus- 
tained aloft  by  being  tossed  to  and  fro  in  the  perpetual  motion 
of  contradiction;  and  therefore  another  sect  of  philosophers 
maintained  the  doctrine  that  the  An  was  not  the  descendant 
of  the  Frog,  but  that  the  Frog  was  clearly  the  improved  de- 
velopment of  the  An.  The  shape  of  the  Frog,  taken  generally, 
was  much  more  symmetrical  than  that  of  the  An;  beside  the 
beautiful  conformation  of  its  lower  limbs,  its  flanks,  and 
shoulders,  the  majority  of  the  Ana  in  that  day  were  almost 
deformed,  and  certainly  ill-shaped.  Again,  the  Frog  had  the 
power  to  live  alike  on  land  and  in  water,  —  a  mighty  privilege, 
partaking  of  a  spiritual  essence  denied  to  the  An,  since  the 
disuse  of  his  swimming-bladder  clearly  proves  his  degenera- 
tion from  a  higher  development  of  species.    Again,  the  earlier 


THE  COMING  RACE.  317 

races  of  the  Ana  seem  to  have  been  covered  with  hair;  and 
even  to  a  comparatively  recent  date,  hirsute  bushes  deformed 
the  very  faces  of  our  ancestors,  spreading  wihl  over  their 
cheeks  and  chins,  as  similar  bushes,  my  poor  Tish,  spread 
wild  over  yours.  But  the  object  of  the  higher  races  of  the 
Ana  through  countless  generations  has  been  to  erase  all  ves- 
tige of  connection  with  hairy  vertebrata,  and  they  have  gradu- 
ally eliminated  that  debasing  capillary  excrement  by  the  law 
of  sexual  selection,  the  Gy-ei  naturally  preferring  youth  or 
the  beauty  of  smooth  faces.  But  the  degree  of  the  Frog  in 
the  scale  of  the  vertebrata  is  shown  in  this,  — that  he  has  no 
hair  at  all,  not  even  on  his  head.  He  was  born  to  that  hair- 
less perfection  which  the  most  beautiful  of  the  Ana,  despite 
the  culture  of  incalculable  ages,  have  not  yet  attained.  The 
wonderful  complication  and  delicacy  of  a  Frog's  nervous  sys- 
tem and  arterial  circulation  were  shown  by  this  school  to  be 
more  susceptible  of  enjoyment  than  our  inferior,  or  at  least 
simpler,  physical  frame  allows  us  to  be.  The  examination 
of  a  Frog's  hand,  if  I  may  use  that  expression,  accounted  for 
its  keener  susceptibility  to  love,  and  to  social  life  in  general. 
In  fact,  gregarious  and  amatory  as  are  the  Ana,  Frogs  are 
still  more  so.  In  short,  these  two  schools  raged  against  each 
other,  one  asserting  the  An  to  be  the  perfected  type  of  the 
Frog;  the  other  that  the  Frog  was  the  highest  development 
of  the  An.  The  moralists  were  divided  in  opinion  with  the 
naturalists,  but  the  bulk  of  them  sided  with  the  Frog-prefer- 
ence school.  They  said,  with  much  plausibility,  that  in 
moral  conduct  (namely,  in  the  adherence  to  rules  best  adapted 
to  the  health  and  welfare  of  the  individual  and  the  commu- 
nity) there  could  be  no  doubt  of  the  vast  superiority  of  the 
Frog.  All  history  showed  the  wholesale  immorality  of  the 
human  race,  the  complete  disregard,  even  by  the  most  re- 
nowned among  them,  of  the  laws  which  they  acknowledged 
to  be  essential  to  their  own  and  the  general  happiness  and 
well-being;  but  the  severest  critic  of  the  Frog  race  could  not 
detect  in  their  manners  a  single  aberration  from  the  moral 
law  tacitly  recognized  by  themselves.  And  what,  after  all, 
can  be  the  profit  of  civilization  if  superiority  in  moral  con- 


318  THE  COMIXG  RACE. 

duct  be  not  the  aim  for  which  it  strives,  and  the  test  by  which 
its  progress  should  be  judged? 

"In  fine,  the  adherents  to  this  theory  presumed  that  in 
some  remote  period  the  Frog  race  had  been  the  improved  de- 
velopment of  the  Human;  but  that,  from  causes  which  defied 
rational  conjecture,  they  had  not  maintained  their  original 
position  in  the  scale  of  nature;  while  the  Ana,  though  of  in- 
ferior organization,  had,  by  dint  less  of  their  virtues  than 
their  vices,  such  as  ferocity  and  cunning,  gradually  acquired 
ascendancy,  much  as  among  the  human  race  itself  tribes  ut- 
terly barbarous  have,  by  superiority  in  similar  vices,  utterly 
destroyed  or  reduced  into  insignificance  tribes  originally  ex- 
celling them  in  mental  gifts  and  culture.  Unhappily  these 
disputes  became  involved  with  the  religious  notions  of  that 
age;  and  as  society  was  then  administered  under  the  govern- 
ment of  the  Koom-Posh,  who,  being  the  most  ignorant,  were 
of  course  the  most  inflammable  class,  the  multitude  took  the 
whole  question  out  of  the  hands  of  the  philosophers ;  political 
chiefs  saw  that  the  Frog  dispute,  so  taken  up  by  the  popu- 
lace, could  become  a  most  valuable  instrument  of  their  am- 
bition; and  for  not  less  than  one  thousand  years  war  and 
massacre  prevailed,  during  which  period  the  philosophers  on 
both  sides  were  butchered,  and  the  government  of  the  Koom- 
Posh  itself  was  happily  brought  to  an  end  by  the  ascendancy 
of  a  family  that  clearly  established  its  descent  from  the  abo- 
riginal tadpole,  and  furnished  despotic  rulers  to  the  various 
nations  of  the  Ana.  These  despots  finally  disappeared,  at 
least  from  our  communities,  as  the  discovery  of  vril  led  to  the 
tranquil  institutions  under  which  flourish  all  the  races  of  the 
Vril-ya." 

"And  do  no  wranglers  or  philosophers  now  exist  to  revive 
the  dispute ;  or  do  they  all  recognize  the  origin  of  your  race  in 
the  tadpole?  " 

"Nay,  such  disputes,"  said  Zee,  with  a  lofty  smile,  "belong 
to  the  Pah-bodh  of  the  dark  ages,  and  now  only  serve  for  the 
amusement  of  infants.  When  we  know  the  elements  out  of 
which  our  bodies  are  composed,  elements  common  to  the  hum- 
blest vegetable  plants,  can  it  signify  whether  the  All-Wise 


THE  COMING  RACE.  319 

combined  those  elements  out  of  one  form  more  than  another, 
in  order  to  create  that  in  which  He  has  placed  the  capacity  to 
receive  the  idea  of  Himself,  and  all  the  varied  grandeurs  of 
intellect  to  which  that  idea  gives  birth?  The  An  in  reality 
commenced  to  exist  as  An  with  the  donation  of  that  capacity, 
and,  with  that  capacity,  the  sense  to  acknowledge  that,  how- 
ever through  the  countless  ages  his  race  may  improve  in  wis- 
dom, it  can  never  combine  the  elements  at  his  command  into 
the  form  of  a  tadi^ole." 

"You  speak  well.  Zee,"  said  Aph-Lin;  "and  it  is  enough 
for  us  short-lived  mortals  to  feel  a  reasonable  assurance  that 
whether  the  origin  of  the  An  was  a  tadpole  or  not,  he  is  no 
more  likely  to  become  a  tadpole  again  than  the  institutions 
of  the  Vril-ya  are  likely  to  relapse  into  the  heaving  quagmire 
and  certain  strife-rot  of  a  Koom-Posh." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

The  Vril-ya,  being  excluded  from  all  sight  of  the  heavenly 
bodies,  and  having  no  other  difference  between  night  and  day 
than  that  which  they  deem  it  convenient  to  ma,ke  for  them- 
selves, do  not,  of  course,  arrive  at  their  divisions  of  time  by 
the  same  process  that  we  do ;  but  I  found  it  easy,  by  the  aid 
of  my  watch,  which  I  luckily  had  about  me,  to  compute  their 
time  with  great  nicety.  I  reserve  for  a  future  work  on  the 
science  and  literature  of  the  Vril-ya,  should  I  live  to  com- 
plete it,  all  details  as  to  the  manner  in  which  they  arrive  at 
their  notation  of  time;  and  content  myself  here  with  saying, 
that  in  point  of  duration,  their  year  differs  very  slightly  from 
ours,  but  that  the  divisions  of  their  year  are  by  no  means  the 
same.  Their  day  (including  what  we  call  night)  consists  of 
twenty  hours  of  our  time,  instead  of  twenty-four,  and  of 
course  their  year  comprises  the  correspondent  increase  in  the 
number  of  days  by  which  it  is  summed  up.     They  subdivide 


320  THE  COMING  RACE. 

the  twenty  hours  of  their  day  thus:  eight  hours,^  called  the 
"Silent  Hours,"  for  repose;  eight  hours,  called  the  "Earnest 
Time,"  for  the  pursuits  and  occupations  of  life;  and  four 
hours,  called  the  "  Easy  Time  "  (with  which  what  I  may  term 
their  day  closes),  allotted  to  festivities,  sport,  recreation,  or 
family  converse,  according  to  their  several  tastes  and  inclina- 
tions. But,  in  truth,  out  of  doors  there  is  no  night.  They 
maintain,  both  in  the  streets  and  in  the  surrounding  country, 
to  the  limits  of  their  territory,  the  same  degree  of  light  at  all 
hours.  Only,  within  doors,  they  lower  it  to  a  soft  twilight 
during  the  Silent  Hours.  They  have  a  great  horror  of  per- 
fect darkness,  and  their  lights  are  never  wholly  extinguished. 
On  occasions  of  festivity  they  continue  the  duration  of  full 
light,  but  equally  keep  note  of  the  distinction  between  night 
and  day,  by  mechanical  contrivances  which  answer  the  pur- 
pose of  our  clocks  and  watches.  They  are  very  fond  of  music; 
and  it  is  by  music  that  these  chronometers  strike  the  princi- 
pal division  of  time.  At  every  one  of  their  hours,  during 
their  day,  the  sounds  coming  from  all  the  timepieces  in  their 
public  buildings,  and  caught  up,  as  it  were,  by  those  of  houses 
or  hamlets  scattered  amidst  the  landscapes  without  the  city, 
have  an  effect  singularly  sweet,  and  yet  singularly  solemn. 
But  during  the  Silent  Hours  these  sounds  are  so  subdued  as 
to  be  only  faintly  heard  by  a  waking  ear.  They  have  no 
change  of  seasons,  and,  at  least  in  the  territory  of  this  tribe, 
the  atmosphere  seemed  to  me  very  equable, —  warm  as  that  of 
an  Italian  summer,  and  humid  rather  than  dry;  in  the  fore- 
noon usually  very  still,  but  at  times  invaded  by  strong  blasts 
from  the  rocks  that  made  the  borders  of  their  domain.  But 
time  is  the  same  to  them  for  sowing  or  reaping  as  in  the 
Golden  Isles  of  the  ancient  poets.  At  the  same  moment  you 
see  the  younger  plants  in  blade  or  bud,  the  older  in  ear  or 
fruit.  All  fruit-bearing  plants,  however,  after  fruitage, 
either  shed  or  change  the  colour  of  their  leaves.  But  that 
which  interested  me  most  in  reckoning  up  their  divisions  of 

1  For  the  sake  of  convenience,  T  adopt  the  words  hours,  days,  years,  etc., 
in  any  general  reference  to  subdivisions  of  time  among  the  Vril-ya,  —  those 
terms  but  loosely  corresponding,  however,  with  such  subdivisions. 


THE  COMING  RACE.  321 

time  was  the  ascertainment  of  the  average  duration  of  life 
amongst  them.  I  found  on  minute  inquiry  that  this  very 
considerably  exceeded  the  term  allotted  to  us  on  the  upper 
earth.  What  seventy  years  are  to  us,  one  hundred  years  are 
to  them.  Nor  is  this  the  only  advantage  they  have  over  us 
in  longevity,  for  as  few  among  us  attain  to  the  age  of  seventy, 
so,  on  the  contrary,  few  among  them  die  before  the  age  of 
one  hundred;  and  they  enjoy  a  general  degree  of  health  and 
vigour  which  makes  life  itself  a  blessing  even  to  the  last. 
Various  causes  contribute  to  this  result:  the  absence  of  all 
alcoholic  stimulants;  temperance  in  food;  more  especially, 
perhaps,  a  serenity  of  mind  undisturbed  by  anxious  occupa- 
tions and  eager  passions.  They  are  not  tormented  by  our 
avarice  or  our  ambition;  they  appear  perfectly  indifferent 
even  to  the  desire  of  fame;  they  are  capable  of  great  affec- 
tion, but  their  love  shows  itself  in  a  tender  and  cheerful  com- 
plaisance, and,  while  forming  their  happiness,  seems  rarely, 
if  ever,  to  constitute  their  woe.  As  the  Gy  is  sure  only  to 
marry  where  she  herself  fixes  her  choice,  and  as  here,  not 
less  than  above  ground,  it  is  the  female  on  whom  the  happi- 
ness of  home  depends,  so  the  Gy,  having  chosen  the  mate  she 
prefers  to  all  others,  is  lenient  to  his  faults,  consults  his 
humours,  and  does  her  best  to  secure  his  attachment.  The 
death  of  a  beloved  one  is  of  course  with  them,  as  with  us,  a 
cause  of  sorrow;  but  not  only  is  death  with  them  so  much 
more  rare  before  that  age  in  which  it  becomes  a  release,  but 
when  it  does  occur  the  survivor  takes  much  more  consolation 
than,  I  am  afraid,  the  generality  of  us  do,  in  the  certainty  of 
reunion  in  another  and  yet  happier  life. 

All  these  causes,  then,  concur  to  their  healthful  and  enjoy- 
able longevity,  though,  no  doubt,  much  also  must  be  owing 
to  hereditary  organization.  According  to  their  records,  how- 
ever, in  those  earlier  stages  of  their  society  when  they  lived 
in  communities  resembling  ours,  agitated  by  fierce  competi- 
tion, their  lives  were  considerably  shorter,  and  their  maladies 
more  numerous  and  grave.  They  themselves  say  that  the 
duration  of  life,  too,  has  increased,  and  is  still  on  the  in- 
crease, since  their  discovery  of  the  invigorating  and  medici- 

21 


322  THE  COMING  RACE. 

nal  properties  of  vril,  applied  for  remedial  purposes.  They 
have  few  professional  and  regular  practitioners  of  medicine, 
and  these  are  chiefly  Gy-ei,  who,  especially  if  widowed  and 
childless,  find  great  delight  in  the  healing  art,  and  even  un- 
dertake surgical  operations  in  those  cases  required  by  acci- 
dent, or,  more  rarely,  by  disease. 

They  have  their  diversions  and  entertainments,  and,  during 
the  Easy  Time  of  their  day,  they  are  wont  to  assemble  in 
great  numbers  for  those  winged  sports  in  the  air  which  I  have 
already  described.  They  have  also  public  halls  for  music, 
and  even  theatres,  at  which  are  performed  pieces  that  ap- 
peared to  me  somewhat  to  resemble  the  plays  of  the  Chinese, 
—  dramas  that  are  thrown  back  into  distant  times  for  their 
events  and  personages,  in  which  all  classic  unities  are  out- 
rageously violated,  and  the  hero,  in  one  scene  a  child,  in  the 
next  is  an  old  man,  and  so  forth.  These  plays  are  of  very 
ancient  composition.  They  appeared  to  me  extremely  dull, 
on  the  whole,  but  were  relieved  by  startling  mechanical  con- 
trivances, and  a  kind  of  farcical  broad  humour,  and  detached 
passages  of  great  vigour  and  power  expressed  in  language 
highly  poetical,  but  somewhat  overcharged  with  metaphor 
and  trope.  In  fine,  they  seemed  to  me  very  much  what  the 
plays  of  Shakspeare  seemed  to  a  Parisian  in  the  time  of 
Louis  XV.,  or  perhaps  to  an  Englishman  in  the  reign  of 
Charles  II. 

The  audience,  of  which  the  Gy-ei  constituted  the  chief  por- 
tion, appeared  to  enjoy  greatly  the  representation  of  these 
dramas,  which,  for  so  sedate  and  majestic  a  race  of  females, 
surprised  me,  till  I  observed  that  all  the  performers  were 
under  the  age  of  adolescence,  and  conjectured  truly  that 
the  mothers  and  sisters  came  to  please  their  children  and 
brothers. 

I  have  said  that  these  dramas  are  of  great  antiquity.  No 
new  plays,  indeed  no  imaginative  works  sufficiently  important 
to  survive  their  immediate  dsLj,  appear  to  have  been  composed 
for  several  generations.  In  fact,  though  there  is  no  lack  of 
new  publications,  and  they  have  even  what  may  be  called 
newspapers,  these  are  chiefly  devoted  to  mechanical  science. 


THE  COMING  RACE.  323 

reports  of  new  inventions,  announcements  respecting  various 
details  of  business, —  in  short,  to  practical  matters.  Some- 
times a  child  writes  a  little  tale  of  adventure,  or  a  young  Gy 
vents  her  amorous  hopes  or  fears  in  a  poem;  but  these  effu- 
sions are  of  very  little  merit,  and  are  seldom  read  except  by 
children  and  maiden  Gy-ei.  The  most  interesting  works  of 
a  purely  literary  character  are  those  of  explorations  and 
travels  into  other  regions  of  this  nether  world,  which  are 
generally  written  by  young  emigrants,  and  are  read  with 
great  avidity  by  the  relations  and  friends  they  have  left 
behind. 

I  could  not  help  expressing  to  Aph-Lin  my  surprise  that  a 
community  in  which  mechanical  science  had  made  so  marvel- 
lous a  progress,  and  in  which  intellectual  civilization  had  ex- 
hibited itself  in  realizing  those  objects  for  the  happiness  of 
the  people,  which  the  political  philosophers  above  ground 
had,  after  ages  of  struggle,  pretty  generally  agreed  to  con- 
sider unattainable  visions,  should  nevertheless  be  so  wholly 
without  a  contemporaneous  literature,  despite  the  excellence 
to  which  culture  had  brought  a  language  at  once  rich  and 
simple,  vigorous  and  musical. 

My  host  replied:  "Do  you  not  perceive  that  a  literature 
such  as  you  mean  would  be  wholly  incompatible  with  that 
perfection  of  social  or  political  felicity  at  which  you  do  us 
the  honour  to  think  we  have  arrived?  We  have  at  last,  after 
centuries  of  struggle,  settled  into  a  form  of  government  with 
which  we  are  content,  and  in  which,  as  we  allow  no  differ- 
ences of  rank,  and  no  honours  are  paid  to  administrators  dis- 
tinguishing them  from  others,  there  is  no  stimulus  given  to 
individual  ambition.  No  one  would  read  works  advocating 
theories  that  involved  any  political  or  social  change,  and 
therefore  no  one  writes  them.  If  now  and  then  an  An  feels 
himself  dissatisfied  with  our  tranquil  mode  of  life,  he  does  not 
attack  it;  he  goes  away.  Thus  all  that  part  of  literature 
(and  to  judge  by  the  ancient  books  in  our  public  libraries,  it 
was  once  a  very  large  part)  which  relates  to  speculative  theo- 
ries on  society  is  become  utterly  extinct.  Again,  formerly 
there  was  a  vast  deal  written  respecting  the  attributes  and 


324  THE  COMING  RACE. 

essence  of  the  All-Good,  and  the  arguments  for  and  against  a 
future  state;  but  now  we  all  recognize  two  facts, —  that  there 
is  a  Divine  Being,  and  there  is  a  future  state,  and  we  all 
equally  agree  that  if  we  wrote  our  fingers  to  the  bone,  we 
could  not  throw  any  light  upon  the  nature  and  conditions  of 
that  future  state,  or  quicken  our  apprehensions  of  the  attri- 
butes and  essence  of  that  Divine  Being,  Thus  another  part 
of  literature  has  become  also  extinct,  happily  for  our  race;  for 
in  the  times  when  so  much  was  written  on  subjects  which  no 
one  could  determine,  people  seemed  to  live  in  a  perpetual 
state  of  quarrel  and  contention.  So,  too,  a  vast  part  of  our 
ancient  literature  consists  of  historical  records  of  wars  and 
revolutions  during  the  times  when  the  Ana  lived  in  large  and 
turbulent  societies,  each  seeking  aggrandizement  at  the  ex- 
pense of  the  other.  You  see  our  serene  mode  of  life  now; 
such  it  has  been  for  ages.  We  have  no  events  to  chronicle. 
What  more  of  us  can  be  said  than  that  '  they  were  born,  they 
were  happy,  they  died  '  ?  Coming  next  to  that  part  of  litera- 
ture which  is  more  under  the  control  of  the  imagination,  such 
as  what  we  call  '  Glaubsila, '  or  colloquially  'Glaubs, '  and  you 
call  '  poetry, '  the  reasons  for  its  decline  amongst  us  are  abun- 
dantly obvious. 

"We  find,  by  referring  to  the  great  masterpieces  in  that 
department  of  literature  which  we  all  still  read  with  pleas- 
ure, but  of  which  none  would  tolerate  imitations,  that  they 
consist  in  the  portraiture  of  passions  which  we  no  longer  ex- 
perience,—  ambition,  vengeance,  unhallowed  love,  the  thirst 
for  warlike  renown,  and  such  like.  The  old  poets  lived  in 
an  atmosphere  impregnated  with  these  passions,  and  felt 
vividly  what  they  expressed  glowingly.  No  one  can  express 
such  passions  now,  for  no  one  can  feel  them,  or  meet  with 
any  sympathy  in  his  readers  if  he  did.  Again,  the  old  poetry 
has  a  main  element  in  its  dissection  of  those  complex  myste- 
ries of  huiaan  character  which  conduce  to  abnormal  vices  and 
crimes,  or  lead  to  signal  and  extraordinary  virtues;  but  our 
society,  having  got  rid  of  temptations  to  any  prominent  vices 
and  crimes,  has  necessarily  rendered  the  moral  average  so 
equal,  that  there  are  no  very  salient  virtues.     Without  its 


THE  COMING  RACE.  325 

ancient  food  of  strong  passions,  vast  crimes,  heroic  excel- 
lences, poetry  therefore  is,  if  not  actually  starved  to  death, 
reduced  to  a  very  meagre  diet.  There  is  still  the  poetry  of 
description, —  description  of  rocks,  and  trees,  and  waters, 
and  common  household  life;  and  our  young  Gy-ei  weave 
much  of  this  insipid  kind  of  composition  into  their  love 
verses." 

"Such  poetry,"  said  I,  "might  surely  be  made  very  charm- 
ing; and  we  have  critics  amongst  us  who  consider  it  a  higher 
kind  than  that  which  depicts  the  crimes,  or  analyzes  the  pas- 
sions, of  man.  At  all  events,  poetry  of  the  insipid  kind  you 
mention  is  a  poetry  that  nowadays  commands  more  readers 
than  any  other  among  the  people  I  have  left  above  ground." 

"Possibly;  but  then  I  suppose  the  writers  take  great  pains 
with  the  language  they  employ,  and  devote  themselves  to  the 
culture  and  polish  of  words  and  rhythms  as  an  art?  " 

"  Certainly  they  do :  all  great  poets  must  do  that.  Though 
the  gift  of  poetry  may  be  inborn,  the  gift  requires  as  much 
care  to  make  it  available  as  a  block  of  metal  does  to  be  made 
into  one  of  your  engines." 

"And  doubtless  your  poets  have  some  incentive  to  bestow 
all  those  pains  upon  such  verbal  prettinesses?  " 

"  Well,  I  presume  their  instinct  of  song  would  make  them 
.  sing  as  the  bird  does ;  but  to  cultivate  the  song  into  verbal  or 
artificial  prettiness  probably  does  need  an  inducement  from 
without,  and  our  poets  find  it  in  the  love  of  fame, —  perhaps, 
now  and  then,  in  the  want  of  money." 

"Precisely  so.  But  in  our  society  we  attach  fame  to  noth- 
ing which  man,  in  that  moment  of  his  duration  which  is 
called  'life,'  can  perform.  We  should  soon  lose  that  equality 
which  constitutes  the  felicitous  essence  of  our  commonwealth 
if  we  selected  any  individual  for  pre-eminent  praise:  pre- 
eminent praise  would  confer  pre-eminent  power,  and  the 
moment  it  were  given,  evil  passions,  now  dormant,  would 
awake;  other  men  would  immediately  covet  praise,  then 
would  arise  envy,  and  with  envy  hate,  and  with  hate  calumny 
and  persecution.  Our  history  tells  us  that  most  of  the  poets 
and  most  of  the  writers  who,  in  the  old  time,  were  favoured 


326  THE  COMIXG  RACE. 

with  the  greatest  praise,  were  also  assailed  by  the  greatest 
vituperation,  and  even,  on  the  whole,  rendered  very  unhappy, 
partly  by  the  attacks  of  jealous  rivals,  partly  by  the  diseased 
mental  constitution  which  an  acquired  sensitiveness  to  praise 
and  to  blame  tends  to  engender.  As  for  the  stimulus  of  want, 
in  the  first  place,  no  man  in  our  community  knows  the  goad 
of  poverty ;  and,  secondly,  if  he  did,  almost  every  occupation 
would  be  more  lucrative  than  writing. 

"Our  public  libraries  contain  all  the  books  of  the  past 
which  time  has  preserved;  those  books,  for  the  reasons  above 
stated,  are  infinitely  better  than  any  can  write  nowadays,  and 
they  are  open  to  all  to  read  without  cost.  We  are  not  such 
fools  as  to  pay  for  reading  inferior  books,  when  we  can  read 
superior  books  for  nothing." 

"With  us,  novelty  has  an  attraction;  and  a  new  book,  if 
bad,  is  read  when  an  old  book,  though  good,  is  neglected." 

"Novelty  to  barbarous  states  of  society  struggling  in  de- 
spair for  something  better  has  no  doubt  an  attraction  denied 
to  us,  who  see  nothing  to  gain  in  novelties;  but,  after  all,  it 
is  observed  by  one  of  our  great  authors  four  thousand  years 
ago,  that  'he  who  studies  old  books  will  always  find  in  them 
something  new,  and  he  who  reads  new  books  will  always  find 
in  them  something  old.'  But  to  return  to  the  question  you 
have  raised:  there  being  then  among  us  no  stimulus  to  pains- 
taking labour,  whether  in  desire  of  fame  or  in  pressure  of 
want,  such  as  have  the  poetic  temperament,  no  doubt,  vent 
it  in  song,  as  you  say  the  bird  sings ;  but  for  lack  of  elaborate 
culture  it  fails  of  an  audience,  and,  failing  of  an  audience, 
dies  out,  of  itself,  amidst  the  ordinary  avocations  of  life." 

"  But  how  is  it  that  these  discouragements  to  the  cultivation 
of  literature  do  not  operate  against  that  of  science?  " 

"  Your  question  amazes  me.  The  motive  to  science  is  the 
love  of  truth  apart  from  all  consideration  of  fame,  and  science 
with  us  too  is  devoted  almost  solely  to  practical  uses,  essen- 
tial to  our  social  conservation  and  the  comforts  of  our  daily 
life.  No  fame  is  asked  by  the  inventor,  and  none  is  given  to 
him;  he  enjoys  an  occupation  congenial  to  his  tastes,  and 
needing  no  wear  and  tear  of  the  passions.     Man  must  have 


THE  COMING  RACE.  327 

exercise  for  his  mind  as  well  as  body ;  and  continuous  exer- 
cise, rather  than  violent,  is  best  for  both.  Our  most  inge- 
nious cultivators  of  science  are,  as  a  general  rule,  the  longest 
lived  and  the  most  free  from  disease.  Painting  is  an  amuse- 
ment to  many,  but  the  art  is  not  what  it  was  in  former  times, 
when  the  great  painters  in  our  various  communities  vied  with 
each  other  for  tlie  prize  of  a  golden  crown,  which  gave  them 
a  social  rank  equal  to  that  of  the  kings  under  whom  they 
lived.  You  will  thus  doubtless  have  observed  in  our  archaeo- 
logical department  how  superior  in  point  of  art  the  pictures 
were  several  thousand  years  ago.  Perhaps  it  is  because  music 
is,  in  reality,  more  allied  to  science  than  it  is  to  poetry,  that, 
of  all  the  pleasurable  arts,  music  is  that  which  flourishes  the 
most  amongst  us.  Still,  even  in  music  the  absence  of  stimu- 
lus in  praise  or  fame  has  served  to  prevent  any  great  supe- 
riority of  one  individual  over  another;  and  we  rather  excel 
in  choral  music,  with  the  aid  of  our  vast  mechanical  instru- 
ments, in  which  we  make  great  use  of  the  agency  of  water,  ^ 
than  in  single  performers.  We  have  had  scarcely  any  origi- 
nal composer  for  some  ages.  Our  favourite  airs  are  very 
ancient  in  substance,  but  have  admitted  many  complicated 
variations  by  inferior,   though  ingenious,  musicians." 

"Are  there  no  political  societies  among  the  Ana  which  are 
animated  by  those  passions,  subjected  to  those  crimes,  and 
admitting  those  disparities  in  condition,  in  intellect,  and  in 
morality,  which  the  state  of  your  tribe,  or  indeed  of  the 
Vril-ya  generally,  has  left  behind  in  its  progress  to  perfec- 
tion? If  so,  among  such  societies  perhaps  Poetry  and  her 
sister  arts  still  continue  to  be  honoured  and  to  improve?" 

''There  are  such  societies  in  remote  regions,  but  we  do  not 
admit  them  within  the  pale  of  civilized  communities;  we 
scarcely  even  give  them  the  name  of  Ana,  and  certainly  not 
that  of  Vril-ya.  They  are  barbarians,  living  chiefly  in  that 
low  stage  of  being,  Koom-Posh,  tending  necessarily  to  its 
own  hideous  dissolution  in  Glek-Nas.     Their  wretched  exist- 

1  This  may  remind  the  student  of  Nero's  invention  of  a  musical  machine, 
by  which  water  was  made  to  perform  the  part  of  an  orchestra,  and  on  which 
he  was  employed  when  the  conspiracy  against  him  broke  out. 


828  THE  COMING  RACE. 

ence  is  passed  in  perpetual  contest  and  perpetual  change. 
When  they  do  not  fight  with  their  neighbours,  they  fight 
among  themselves.  They  are  divided  into  sections,  which 
abuse,  plunder,  and  sometimes  murder  each  other,  and  on  the 
most  frivolous  points  of  diiierence  that  would  be  unintelligi- 
ble to  us  if  we  had  not  read  history,  and  seen  that  we  too 
have  passed  through  the  same  early  state  of  ignorance  and 
barbarism.  Any  trifle  is  sufficient  to  set  them  together  by  the 
ears.  They  pretend  to  be  all  equals;  and  the  more  they  have 
struggled  to  be  so,  by  removing  old  distinctions  and  starting 
afresh,  the  more  glaring  and  intolerable  the  disparity  be- 
comes, because  nothing  in  hereditary  alfections  and  associa- 
tions is  left  to  soften  the  one  naked  distinction  between  the 
many  who  have  nothing  and  the  few  who  have  much.  Of 
course  the  many  hate  the  few,  but  without  the  few  they  could 
not  live.  The  many  are  always  assailing  the  few;  sometimes 
they  exterminate  the  few;  but  as  soon  as  they  have  done  so, 
a  new  few  starts  out  of  the  many,  and  is  harder  to  deal  with 
than  the  old  few.  For  where  societies  are  large,  and  compe- 
tition  to  have  something  is  the  predominant  fever,  there  must 
be  always  many  losers  and  few  gainers.  In  short,  the  people 
I  speak  of  are  savages  groping  their  way  in  the  dark  towards 
some  gleam  of  light,  and  would  demand  our  commiseration 
for  their  infirmities,  if,  like  all  savages,  they  did  not  provoke 
their  own  destruction  by  their  arrogance  and  cruelty.  Can 
you  imagine  that  creatures  of  this  kind,  armed  only  with  such 
miserable  weapons  as  you  may  see  in  our  museum  of  antiqui- 
ties, clumsy  iron  tubes  charged  with  saltpetre,  have  more 
than  once  threatened  with  destruction  a  tribe  of  the  Vril-ya, 
which  dwells  nearest  to  them,  because  they  say  they  have 
thirty  millions  of  population, —  and  that  tribe  may  have  fifty 
thousand, —  if  the  latter  do  not  accept  their  notions  of  Soc-Sec 
(money-getting)  on  some  trading  principles  which  they  have 
the  imprudence  to  call  a  'law  of  civilization'  ?  " 

"But  thirty  millions  of  population  are  formidable  odds 
against  fifty  thousand!  " 

My  host  stared  at  me  astonished.  "Stranger,"  said  he, 
"you  could  not  have  heard  me  say  that  this  threatened  tribe 


THE   COMING   RACE.  329 

belongs  to  the  Vril-ya;  and  it  only  waits  for  these  savages  to 
declare  war,  in  order  to  commission  some  half-a-dozen  small 
children  to  sweep  away  their  whole  population." 

At  tliese  words  I  felt  a  thrill  of  horror,  recognizing  much 
more  affinity  with  "the  savages"  than  I  did  with  the  Vril-ya, 
and  remembering  all  I  had  said  in  praise  of  the  glorious 
American  institutions,  which  Aph-Lin  stigmatized  as  Koom- 
Posh.  Recovering  my  self-possession,  I  asked  if  there  were 
modes  of  transit  by  which  I  could  safely  visit  this  temerarious 
and  remote  people. 

"  You  can  travel  with  safety,  by  vril  agency,  either  along 
the  ground  or  amid  the  air,  throughout  all  the  range  of  the 
communities  with  which  we  are  allied  and  akin;  but  I  cannot 
vouch  for  your  safety  in  barbarous  nations  governed  by  dif- 
ferent laws  from  ours, —  nations,  indeed,  so  benighted,  that 
there  are  among  them  large  numbers  who  actually  live  by 
stealing  from  each  other,  and  one  could  not  with  safety  in 
the  Silent  Hours  even  leave  the  doors  of  one's  own  house 
open." 

Here  our  conversation  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of 
Tae,  who  came  to  inform  us  that  he,  having  been  deputed  to 
discover  and  destroy  the  enormous  reptile  which  I  had  seen 
on  my  first  arrival,  had  been  on  the  watch  for  it  ever  since 
his  visit  to  me,  and  had  begun  to  suspect  that  my  eyes  had 
deceived  me,  or  that  the  creature  had  made  its  way  through 
the  cavities  within  the  rocks  to  the  wild  regions  in  which 
dwelt  its  kindred  race,  when  it  gave  evidences  of  its  where- 
abouts  by  a  great  devastation  of  the  herbage  bordering  one  of 
the  lakes.  "And,"  said  Tae,  "I  feel  sure  that  within  that 
lake  it  is  now  hiding.  So  "  (turning  to  me)  "  I  thought  it 
might  amuse  you  to  accompany  me  to  see  the  way  we  destroy 
such  unpleasant  visitors."  As  T  looked  at  the  face  of  the 
young  child,  and  called  to  mind  the  enormous  size  of  the 
creature  he  proposed  to  exterminate,  I  felt  myself  shudder 
with  fear  for  him,  and  perhaps  fear  for  myself,  if  I  accom- 
panied him  in  such  a  chase;  but  my  curiosity  to  witness  the 
destructive  effects  of  the  boasted  vril,  and  my  unwillingness 
to  lower  myself  in  the  eyes  of  an  infant  by  betraying  appre- 


330  THE  COMING  RACE. 

hensions  of  personal  safety,  prevailed  over  my  first  impulse. 
Accordingly,  I  thanked  Tae  for  his  courteous  consideration 
for  my  amusement,  and  professed  my  willingness  to  set  out 
with  him  on  so  diverting  an  enterprise. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

As  Tae  and  myself,  on  quitting  the  town,  and  leaving  to 
the  left  the  main  road  which  led  to  it,  struck  into  the  fields, 
the  strange  and  solemn  beauty  of  the  landscape,  lighted  up, 
by  numberless  lamps,  to  the  verge  of  the  horizon,  fascinated 
my  eyes,  and  rendered  me  for  some  time  an  inattentive  lis- 
tener to  the  talk  of  my  companion. 

Along  our  way  various  operations  of  agriculture  were  being 
carried  on  by  machinery,  the  forms  of  which  were  new  to  me, 
and  for  the  most  part  very  graceful;  for  among  these  people 
art,  being  so  cultivated  for  the  sake  of  mere  utility,  exhibits 
itself  in  adorning  or  refining  the  shapes  of  useful  objects. 
Precious  metals  and  gems  are  so  profuse  among  them,  that 
they  are  lavished  on  things  devoted  to  purposes  the  most 
commonplace ;  and  their  love  of  utility  leads  them  to  beautify 
its  tools,  and  quickens  their  imagination  in  a  way  unknown 
to  themselves. 

In  all  service,  whether  in  or  out  of  doors,  they  make  great 
use  of  automaton  figures,  which  are  so  ingenious,  and  so 
pliant  to  the  operations  of  vril,  that  they  actually  seem 
gifted  with  reason.  It  was  scarcely  ^x)ssible  to  distinguish 
the  figures  I  beheld,  apparently  guiding  or  superintending 
the  rapid  movements  of  vast  engines,  from  human  forms  en- 
dowed with  thought. 

By  degrees,  as  we  continued  to  walk  on,  my  attention  be- 
came roused  by  the  lively  and  acute  remarks  of  my  com- 
panion. The  intelligence  of  the  children  among  this  race  is 
marvellously  precocious,  perhaps  from  the  habit  of  having 


THE   COMING   RACE.  331 

intrusted  to  them,  at  so  early  an  age,  the  toils  and  responsi- 
bilities of  middle  age.  Indeed,  in  conversing  with  Taii,  I 
felt  as  if  talking  with  some  superior  and  observant  man  of 
my  own  years.  I  asked  him  if  he  could  form  any  estimate 
of  the  number  of  communities  into  which  the  race  of  the 
Vril-ya  is  subdivided. 

"Not  exactly,"  he  said,  "because  they  multiply,  of  course, 
every  year  as  the  surplus  of  each  community  is  drafted  off. 
But  I  heard  my  father  say  that,  according  to  the  last  report, 
there  were  a  million  and  a  half  of  communities  speaking  our 
language,  and  adopting  our  institutions  and  forms  of  life  and 
government;  but,  I  believe,  with  some  differences,  about  which 
you  had  better  ask  Zee.  She  knows  more  than  most  of  the 
Ana  do.  An  An  cares  less  for  things  that  do  not  concern  him 
than  a  Gy  does;   the  Gy-ei  are  inquisitive  creatures." 

"  Does  each  community  restrict  itself  to  the  same  number 
of  families  or  amount  of  population  that  you  do?  " 

"No;  some  have  much  smaller  populations,  some  have 
larger, —  varying  according  to  the  extent  of  the  country  they 
appropriate,  or  to  the  degree  of  excellence  to  which  they  have 
brought  their  machinery.  Each  community  sets  its  own 
limit  according  to  circumstances,  taking  care  always  that 
there  shall  never  arise  any  class  of  poor  by  the  pressure  of 
population  upon  the  productive  powers  of  the  domain;  and 
that  no  State  shall  be  too  large  for  a  government  resembling 
that  of  a  single  well-ordered  family.  I  imagine  that  no  Vril 
community  exceeds  thirty  thousand  households.  But,  as  a 
general  rule,  the  smaller  the  community,  provided  there  be 
hands  enough  to  do  justice  to  the  capacities  of  the  territory 
it  occupies,  the  richer  each  individual  is,  and  the  larger  the 
sum  contributed  to  the  general  treasury;  above  all,  the  hap- 
pier and  the  more  tranquil  is  the  whole  political  body,  and 
the  more  perfect  the  products  of  its  industry.  The  State 
which  all  tribes  of  the  Vril-ya  acknowledge  to  be  the  highest 
in  civilization,  and  which  has  brought  the  vril  force  to  its 
fullest  development,  is  perhaps  the  smallest.  It  limits  itself 
to  four  thousand  families;  but  every  inch  of  its  territory  is 
cultivated  to  the  utmost  perfection  of  garden  ground ;  its  ma- 


S32  THE  COMING  RACE. 

chinery  excels  that  of  every  other  tribe ;  and  there  is  no  pro- 
duct  of  its  industry  in  any  department  which  is  not  sought 
for,  at  extraordinary  prices,  by  each  community  of  our  race. 
All  our  tribes  make  this  State  their  model,  considering  that 
we  should  reach  the  highest  state  of  civilization  allowed  to 
mortals  if  we  could  unite  the  greatest  degree  of  happiness 
with  the  highest  degree  of  intellectual  achievement;  and  it  is 
clear  that  the  smaller  the  society  the  less  difficult  that  will 
be.     Ours  is  too  large  for  it." 

This  reply  set  me  thinking.  I  reminded  myself  of  that 
little  State  of  Athens,  with  only  twenty  thousand  free  citi- 
zens, and  which  to  this  day  our  mightiest  nations  regard  as 
the  supreme  guide  and  model  in  all  departments  of  intellect. 
But  then  Athens  permitted  fierce  rivalry  and  perpetual 
change,  and  was  certainly  not  happy,  Kousing  myself  from 
the  revery  into  which  these  reflections  had  plunged  me,  I 
brought  back  our  talk  to  the  subjects  connected  with 
emigration. 

"But,"  said  I,  "when,  I  suppose  yearly,  a  certain  number 
among  you  agree  to  quit  home  and  found  a  new  community 
elsewhere,  they  must  necessarily  be  very  few,  and  scarcely 
sufficient,  even  with  the  help  of  the  machines  they  take  with 
them,  to  clear  the  ground,  and  build  towns,  and  form  a  civil- 
ized  State  with  the  comforts  and  luxuries  in  which  they  had 
been  reared." 

"You  mistake.  All  the  tribes  of  the  Vril-ya  are  in  con- 
stant communication  with  each  other,  and  settle  amongst 
themselves  each  year  what  proportion  of  one  community  will 
unite  with  the  emigrants  of  another,  so  as  to  form  a  State  of 
sufficient  size;  and  the  place  for  emigration  is  agreed  upon  at 
least  a  year  before,  and  pioneers  sent  from  each  State  to  level 
rocks,  and  embank  waters,  and  construct  houses;  so  that 
when  the  emigrants  at  last  go  they  find  a  city  already  made, 
and  a  country  around  it  at  least  partially  cleared.  Our  hardy 
life  as  children  makes  us  take  cheerfully  to  travel  and  adven- 
ture.    I  mean  to  emigrate  myself  when  of  age." 

"Do  the  emigrants  always  select  places  hitherto  unin- 
habited and  barren?" 


THE  COMING  RACE.  333 

"As  yet  generally,  because  it  is  our  rule  never  to  destroy 
except  where  necessary  to  our  well  being.  Of  course,  we 
cannot  settle  in  lands  already  occupied  by  the  Vril-ya;  and  if 
we  take  the  cultivated  lands  of  the  other  races  of  Ana,  we 
must  utterly  destroy  the  previous  inhabitants.  Sometimes, 
as  it  is,  we  take  waste  spots,  and  find  that  a  troublesome, 
quarrelsome  race  of  Ana,  especially  if  under  the  administra- 
tion of  Koom-Posh  or  Glek-Nas,  resents  our  vicinity,  and 
picks  a  quarrel  with  us;  then,  of  course,  as  menacing  our 
welfare,  we  destroy  it:  there  is  no  coming  to  terms  of  peace 
with  a  race  so  idiotic  that  it  is  always  changing  the  form  of 
government  which  represents  it.  Koom-Posh,"  said  the  child, 
emphatically,  "is  bad  enough,  still  it  has  brains,  though  at 
the  back  of  its  head,  and  is  not  without  a  heart;  but  in  Glek- 
Nas  the  brain  and  heart  of  the  creatures  disappear,  and  they 
become  all  jaws,  claws,  and  belly." 

"  You  express  yourself  strongly.  Allow  me  to  inform  you 
that  I  myself,  and  I  am  proud  to  say  it,  am  the  citizen  of  a 
Koom-Posh." 

"I  no  longer,"  answered  Tae,  "wonder  to  see  you  here  so 
far  from  your  home.  What  was  the  condition  of  your  native 
community  before  it  became  a  Koom-Posh?  " 

"A  settlement  of  emigrants, —  like  those  settlements  which 
your  tribe  sends  forth;  but  so  far  unlike  your  settlements, 
that  it  was  dependent  on  the  State  from  which  it  came.  It 
shook  off  that  yoke,  and,  crowned  with  eternal  glory,  became 
a  Koom-Posh." 

"Eternal  glory!  how  long  has  the  Koom-Posh  lasted?  " 

"About  one  hundred  years." 

"The  length  of  an  An's  life,— a  very  young  community. 
In  much  less  than  another  one  hundred  years  your  Koom-Posh 
will  be  a  Glek-Nas." 

"  Nay,  the  oldest  States  in  the  world  I  come  from  have  such 
faith  in  its  duration,  that  they  are  all  gradually  shaping  their 
institutions  so  as  to  melt  into  ours,  and  their  most  thoughtful 
politicians  say  that,  whether  they  like  it  or  not,  the  inevita- 
ble tendency  of  these  old  States  is  towards  Koom-Posh-erie." 

"The  old  States?" 


334  THE  COMING  RACE. 

"Yes,  the  old  States." 

"With  populations  very  small  in  proportion  to  the  area  of 
productive  land?  " 

"  On  the  contrary,  with  populations  very  large  in  proportion 
to  that  area." 

"I  see!  old  States  indeed!  —  so  old  as  to  become  drivelling 
if  they  don't  pack  off  that  surplus  population  as  we  do  ours. 
Very  old  States, —  very,  very  old!  Pray,  Tish,  do  j^ou  think 
it  wise  for  very  old  men  to  try  to  turn  head-over-heels  as  very 
young  children  do?  And  if  you  asked  them  why  they  at- 
tempted such  antics,  should  you  not  laugh  if  they  answered 
that  by  imitating  very  young  children  they  could  become  very 
young  children  themselves?  Ancient  history  abounds  with 
instances  of  this  sort  a  great  many  thousand  years  ago,  and 
in  every  instance  a  very  old  State  that  played  at  Koom-Posh 
soon  tumbled  into  Glek-Xas.  Then,  in  horror  of  its  own  self, 
it  cried  out  for  a  master,  as  an  old  man  in  his  dotage  cries  out 
for  a  nurse ;  and  after  a  succession  of  masters  or  nurses,  more 
or  less  long,  that  very  old  State  died  out  of  history.  A  very 
old  State  attempting  Koom-Posh-erie  is  like  a  very  old  man 
who  pulls  down  the  house  to  which  he  has  been  accustomed, 
but  he  has  so  exhausted  his  vigour  in  pulling  down,  that  all 
he  can  do  in  the  way  of  rebuilding  is  to  run  up  a  crazy  hut, 
in  which  himself  and  his  successors  whine  out  'How  the  wind 
blows!     How  the  walls  shake!'  " 

"  My  dear  Tae,  I  make  all  excuse  for  your  unenlightened 
prejudices,  which  every  schoolboy  educated  in  a  Koom-Posh 
could  easily  controvert,  though  he  might  not  be  so  preco- 
ciously learned  in  ancient  history  as  you  appear  to  be." 

"I  learned!  not  a  bit  of  it.  But  would  a  schoolboy,  edu- 
cated in  your  Koom-Posh,  ask  his  great-great-grandfather  or 
great-great-grandmother  to  stand  on  his  or  her  head  with  the 
feet  uppermost;  and  if  the  poor  old  folks  hesitated,  saj^, 
'What  do  you  fear?  —  see  how  I  do  it!'" 

"  Tae,  I  disdain  to  argue  with  a  child  of  your  age.  I  re- 
peat, I  make  allowances  for  your  want  of  that  culture  which 
a  Koom-Posh  alone  can  bestow." 

"  I,  in  my  turn, "  answered  Tae,  with  an  air  of  the  suave 


THE  COMING  RACE.  335 

but  lofty  good  breeding  which  characterizes  his  race,  "not 
only  make  allowances  for  you  as  not  educated  among  the 
Vril-ya,  but  I  entreat  you  to  vouchsafe  me  your  pardon  for 
insufficient  respect  to  the  habits  and  opinions  of  so  amiable 
a  — Tish!" 

I  ought  before  to  have  observed  that  I  was  commonly  called 
Tish  by  my  host  and  his  family,  as  being  a  polite  and  indeed  a 
pet  name,  metaphorically  signifying  a  small  barbarian,  liter- 
ally a  Froglet;  the  children  apply  it  endearingly  to  the  tame 
species  of  Frog  which  they  keep  in  their  gardens. 

We  had  now  reached  the  banks  of  a  lake,  and  Tae  here 
paused  to  point  out  to  me  the  ravages  made  in  fields  skirting 
it.  "The  enemy  certainly  lies  within  these  waters,"  said 
Tae.  *'  Observe  what  shoals  of  fish  are  crowded  together  at 
the  margin, —  even  the  great  fishes  with  the  small  ones,  who 
are  their  habitual  prey,  and  who  generally  shun  them ;  all  for- 
get their  instincts  in  the  presence  of  a  common  destroyer. 
This  reptile  certainly  must  belong  to  the  class  of  the  Krek-a, 
a  class  more  devouring  than  any  other,  and  said  to  be  among 
the  few  surviving  species  of  the  world's  dreadest  inhabitants 
before  the  Ana  were  created.  The  appetite  of  a  Krek  is  in- 
satiable,—  it  feeds  alike  upon  vegetable  and  animal  life;  but 
for  the  swift-footed  creatures  of  the  elk  species  it  is  too  slow 
in  its  movements.  Its  favourite  dainty  is  an  An  when  it  can 
catch  him  unawares;  and  hence  the  Ana  destroy  it  relent- 
lessly whenever  it  enters  their  dominion.  I  have  heard  that 
when  our  forefathers  first  cleared  this  country,  these  mon- 
sters, and  others  like  them,  abounded,  and,  vril  being  then 
undiscovered,  many  of  our  race  were  devoured.  It  was  im- 
possible to  exterminate  them  wholly  till  that  discovery  which 
constitutes  the  power  and  sustains  the  civilization  of  our 
race.  But  after  the  uses  of  vril  became  familiar  to  us,  all 
creatures  inimical  to  us  were  soon  annihilated.  Still,  once  a 
year  or  so,  one  of  these  enormous  reptiles  wanders  from  the 
unreclaimed  and  savage  districts  beyond,  and  within  my 
memory  one  seized  upon  a  young  Gy  who  was  bathing  in  this 
very  lake.  Had  she  been  on  land  and  armed  with  her  staff, 
it  would  not  have  dared  even  to  show  itself;  for,  like  all  sav- 


336  THE  COMING  RACE. 

age  creatures,  the  reptile  has  a  marvellous  instinct,  which 
warns  it  against  the  bearer  of  the  vril  wand.  How  they  teach 
their  young  to  avoid  him,  though  seen  for  the  first  time,  is 
one  of  those  mysteries  which  you  may  ask  Zee  to  explain,  for 
I  cannot.  1  So  long  as  I  stand  here,  the  monster  will  not  stir 
from  its  lurking-place;  but  we  must  now  decoy  it  forth." 
"  Will  not  that  be  difficult?  " 

*'Not  at  all.  Seat  yourself  yonder  on  that  crag  (about  one 
hundred  yards  from  the  bank),  while  I  retire  to  a  distance.  In 
a  short  time  the  reptile  will  catch  sight  or  scent  of  you,  and, 
perceiving  that  you  are  no  vril-bearer,  will  come  forth  to  de- 
vour you.  As  soon  as  it  is  fairly  out  of  the  water  it  becomes 
my  prey." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  I  am  to  be  the  decoy  to  that 
horrible  monster  which  could  engulf  me  within  its  jaws  in  a 
second!     I  beg  to  decline." 

The  child  laughed.  ''Fear  nothing,"  said  he;  "only  sit 
still." 

Instead  of  obeying  this  command,  I  made  a  bound,  and  was 
about  to  take  fairly  to  my  heels,  when  Tae  touched  me  lightly 
on  the  shoulder,  and  fixing  his  eyes  steadily  on  mine,  I  was 
rooted  to  the  spot.  All  power  of  volition  left  me.  Submis- 
sive to  the  infant's  gesture,  I  followed  him  to  the  crag  he  had 
indicated,  and  seated  myself  there  in  silence.  Most  readers 
have  seen  something  of  the  effects  of  electro-biology,  whether 
genuine  or  spurious.  No  professor  of  that  doubtful  craft  had 
ever  been  able  to  influence  a  thought  or  a  movement  of  mine, 
but  I  was  a  mere  machine  at  the  will  of  this  terrible  child. 
Meanwhile  he  expanded  his  wings,  soared  aloft,  and  alighted 
amidst  a  copse  at  the  brow  of  a  hill  at  some  distance. 

I  was  alone;  and  turning  my  eyes  with  an  indescribable 
sensation  of  horror  towards  the  lake,  I  kept  them  fixed  on  its 
water,   spell -bound.     It  might  be  ten  or  fifteen  minutes,  to 

1  The  reptile  in  this  instinct  does  but  resemble  our  wild  ])irdsand  animals, 
which  will  not  come  in  reach  of  a  man  armed  with  a  gun.  When  the  electric 
wires  were  first  put  up,  partridges  struck  against  them  in  their  flight,  and  fell 
down  wounded.  No  younger  generations  of  partridges  meet  with  a  similar 
accident. 


THE  COMING  RACE.  337 

me  it  seemed  ages,  before  the  still  surface,  gleaming  under 
the  lamp-light,  began  to  be  agitated  towards  the  centre.  At 
the  same  time  the  shoals  of  fish  near  the  margin  evinced  their 
sense  of  the  enemy's  approach  by  splash  and  leap  and  bub- 
bling circle.  I  could  detect  their  hurried  flight  hither  and 
thither,  some  even  casting  themselves  ashore.  A  long,  dark, 
undulous  furrow  came  moving  along  the  waters,  nearer  and 
nearer,  till  the  vast  head  of  the  reptile  emerged, —  its  jaws 
bristling  with  fangs,  and  its  dull  eyes  fixing  themselves  hun- 
grily  on  the  spot  where  I  sat  motionless.  And  now  its  fore 
feet  were  on  the  strand,  now  its  enormous  breast,  scaled  on 
either  side  as  in  armour,  in  the  centre  showing  corrugated 
skin  of  a  dull  venomous  yellow;  and  now  its  whole  length 
was  on  the  land,  a  hundred  feet  or  more  from  the  jaw  to  the 
tail.  Another  stride  of  those  ghastly  feet  would  have  brought 
it  to  the  spot  where  I  sat.  There  was  but  a  moment  between 
me  and  this  grim  form  of  death,  when  what  seemed  a  flash  of 
lightning  shot  through  the  air,  smote,  and,  for  a  space  in 
time  briefer  than  that  in  which  a  man  can  draw  his  breath, 
enveloped  the  monster;  and  then,  as  the  flash  vanished,  there 
lay  before  me  a  blackened,  charred,  smouldering  mass,  a  some- 
thing gigantic,  but  of  which  even  the  outlines  of  form  were 
burned  away,  and  rapidly  crumbling  into  dust  and  ashes.  I 
remained  still  seated,  still  speechless,  ice-cold  with  a  new 
sensation  of  dread :  what  had  been  horror  was  now  awe. 

I  felt  the  child's  hand  on  my  head.  Fear  left  me,  the  spell 
was  broken;  I  rose  up.  "You  see  with  what  ease  the  Vril-ya 
destroy  their  enemies,"  said  Tae;  and  then,  moving  towards 
the  bank,  he  contemplated  the  smouldering  relics  of  the  mon- 
ster, and  said  quietly,  "  I  have  destroyed  larger  creatures,  but 
none  with  so  much  pleasure.  Yes,  it  is  a  Krek;  what  suffer- 
ing it  must  have  inflicted  while  it  lived !  "  Then  he  took  up 
the  poor  fishes  that  had  flung  themselves  ashore,  and  restored 
them  mercifully  to  their  native  element. 


22 


338  THE  COMING  RACE. 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

As  we  walked  back  to  the  town,  Tae  took  a  new  and  circui- 
tous way,  in  order  to  show  me  what,  to  use  a  familiar  term,  I 
will  call  the  "Station,"  from  which  emigrants  or  travellers  to 
other  communities  commence  their  journeys.  I  had,  on  a 
former  occasion,  expressed  a  wish  to  see  their  vehicles. 
These  I  found  to  be  of  two  kinds,  one  for  land-journeys,  one 
for  aerial  voyages:  the  former  were  of  all  sizes  and  forms, 
some  not  larger  than  an  ordinary  carriage,  some  movable 
houses  of  one  story  and  containing  several  rooms,  furnished 
according  to  the  ideas  of  comfort  or  luxury  which  are  enter- 
tained by  the  Vril-ya.  The  aerial  vehicles  were  of  light  sub- 
stances, not  the  least  resembling  our  balloons,  but  rather  our 
boats  and  pleasure-vessels,  with  helm  and  rudder,  with  large 
wings  as  paddles,  and  a  central  machine  worked  by  vril.  All 
the  vehicles  both  for  land  or  air  were  indeed  worked  by  that 
potent  and  mysterious  agency. 

I  saw  a  convoy  set  out  on  its  journey,  but  it  had  few  pas- 
sengers, containing  chiefly  articles  of  merchandise,  and  was 
bound  to  a  neighbouring  community;  for  among  all  the  tribes 
of  the  Vril-ya  there  is  considerable  commercial  interchange. 
I  may  here  observe,  that  their  money  currency  does  not  con- 
sist of  the  precious  metals,  which  are  too  common  among 
them  for  that  purpose.  The  smaller  coins  in  ordinary  use 
are  manufactured  from  a  peculiar  fossil  shell,  the  compara- 
tively scarce  remnant  of  some  very  early  deluge,  or  other  con- 
vulsion of  nature,  by  which  a  species  has  become  extinct.  It 
is  minute,  and  flat  as  an  oyster,  and  takes  a  jewel-like  polish. 
This  coinage  circulates  among  all  the  tribes  of  the  Vril-ya. 
Their  larger  transactions  are  carried  on  much  like  ours,  by 
bills  of  exchange,  and  thin  metallic  plates  which  answer  the 
purpose  of  our  bank-notes. 

Let  me  take  this  occasion  of  adding  that  the  taxation  among 
the  tribe  I  became  acquainted  with  was  very  considerable, 


THE  COMING  RACE.  339 

compared  with  the  amount  of  population;  but  I  never  heard 
that  any  one  grumbled  at  it,  for  it  was  devoted  to  purposes  of 
universal  utility,  and  indeed  necessary  to  the  civilization  of 
the  tribe.  The  cost  of  lighting  so  large  a  range  of  country, 
of  providing  for  emigration,  of  maintaining  the  public  build- 
ings at  which  the  various  operations  of  national  intellect  were 
carried  on,  from  the  first  education  of  an  infant  to  the  depart- 
ments to  which  the  College  of  Sages  were  perpetually  trying 
new  experiments  in  mechanical  science, —  all  these  involved 
the  necessity  for  considerable  State  funds.  To  these  I  must 
add  an  item  that  struck  me  as  very  singular.  I  have  said  that 
all  the  human  labour  required  by  the  State  is  carried  on  by 
children  up  to  the  marriageable  age.  For  this  labour  the 
State  pays,  and  at  a  rate  immeasurably  higher  than  our  remu- 
neration to  labour  even  in  the  United  States.  According  to 
their  theory,  every  child,  male  or  female,  on  attaining  the 
marriageable  age,  and  there  terminating  the  period  of  labour, 
should  have  acquired  enough  for  an  independent  competence 
during  life.  As,  no  matter  what  the  disparity  of  fortune  in 
the  parents,  all  the  children  must  equally  serve,  so  all  are 
equally  paid  according  to  their  several  ages  or  the  nature  of 
their  work.  When  the  parents  or  friends  choose  to  retain  a 
child  in  their  own  service,  they  must  pay  into  the  public 
fund  in  the  same  ratio  as  the  State  pays  to  the  children  it 
employs;  and  this  sum  is  handed  over  to  the  child  when  the 
period  of  service  expires.  This  practice  serves,  no  doubt,  to 
render  the  notion  of  social  equality  familiar  and  agreeable; 
and  if  it  may  be  said  that  all  the  children  form  a  democracy, 
no  less  truly  it  may  be  said  that  all  the  adults  form  an  aris- 
tocracy. The  exquisite  politeness  and  refinement  of  man- 
ners among  the  Vril-ya,  the  generosity  of  their  sentiments, 
the  absolute  leisure  they  enjoy  for  following  out  their  own 
private  pursuits,  the  amenities  of  their  domestic  intercourse, 
in  which  they  seem  as  members  of  one  noble  order  that  can 
have  no  distnist  of  each  other's  word  or  deed, —  all  combine 
to  make  the  Yril-ya  the  most  perfect  nobility  which  a  po- 
litical disciple  of  Plato  or  Sidney  could  conceive  for  the  ' 
ideal  of  an  aristocratic  republic. 


340  THE  COMING  RACE. 


CHAPTER   XX. 

From  the  date  of  the  expedition  with  Tae  which  I  have 
just  narrated,  the  child  paid  me  frequent  visits.  He  had 
taken  a  liking  to  me,  which  I  cordially  returned.  Indeed,  as 
he  was  not  yet  twelve  years  old,  and  had  not  commenced  the 
course  of  scientific  studies  with  which  childhood  closes  in 
that  country,  my  intellect  was  less  inferior  to  his  than  to  that 
of  the  elder  members  of  his  race,  especially  of  the  Gy-ei,  and 
most  especially  of  the  accomplished  Zee.  The  children  of 
the  Vril-ya,  having  upon  their  minds  the  weight  of  so  many 
active  duties  and  grave  responsibilities,  are  not  generally 
mirthful;  but  Tae,  with  all  his  wisdom,  had  much  of  the 
playful  good-humour  one  often  finds  the  characteristic  of 
elderly  men  of  genius.  He  felt  that  sort  of  pleasure  in  my 
society  which  a  boy  of  a  similar  age  in  the  upper  world  has 
in  the  company  of  a  pet  dog  or  monkey.  It  amused  him  to 
try  and  teach  me  the  ways  of  his  people,  as  it  amuses  a 
nephew  of  mine  to  make  his  poodle  walk  on  his  hind  legs,  or 
jump  through  a  hoop.  I  willingly  lent  myself  to  such  experi- 
ments, but  I  never  achieved  the  success  of  the  poodle.  I 
was  very  much  interested  at  first  in  the  attempt  to  ply  the 
wings  which  the  youngest  of  the  Vril-ya  use  as  nimbly  and 
easily  as  ours  do  their  legs  and  arms;  but  my  efforts  were 
attended  with  contusions  serious  enough  to  make  me  abandon 
them  in  despair. 

The  wings,  as  I  before  said,  are  very  large,  reaching  to  the 
knee,  and  in  repose  thrown  back  so  as  to  form  a  very  graceful 
mantle.  They  are  composed  from  the  feathers  of  a  gigantic 
bird  that  abounds  in  the  rocky  heights  of  the  country, —  the 
colour  mostly  white,  but  sometimes  with  reddish  streaks. 
They  are  fastened  round  the  shoulders  with  light  but  strong 
springs  of  steel;  and,  when  expanded,  the  arms  slide  through 
loops  for  that  purpose,  forming,  as  it  were,  a  stout  central 


THE  COMING  RACE.  341 

membrane.  As  the  arms  are  raised,  a  tubular  lining  beneath 
the  vest  or  tunic  becomes,  by  mechanical  contrivance,  inflated 
with  air,  increased  or  diminished  at  will  by  the  movement  of 
the  arms,  and  serving  to  buoy  the  whole  form  as  on  bladders. 
The  wings  and  the  balloon-like  apparatus  are  highly  charged 
with  vril;  and  when  the  body  is  thus  wafted  upward,  it  seems 
to  become  singularly  lightened  of  its  weight.  I  found  it  easy 
enough  to  soar  from  the  ground;  indeed,  when  the  wings  were 
spread  it  was  scarcely  possible  not  to  soar,  but  then  came  the 
difficulty  and  the  danger.  I  utterly  failed  in  the  power  to 
use  and  direct  the  pinions,  though  I  am  considered  among  my 
own  race  unusually  alert  and  ready  in  bodily  exercises,  and 
am  a  very  practised  swimmer.  I  could  only  make  the  most 
confused  and  blundering  efforts  at  flight.  I  was  the  servant 
of  the  wings;  the  wings  were  not  my  servants, —  they  were 
beyond  my  control;  and  when  by  a  violent  strain  of  muscle, 
and,  I  must  fairly  own,  in  that  abnormal  strength  which  is 
given  by  excessive  fright,  I  curbed  their  gyrations  and 
brought  them  near  to  the  body,  it  seemed  as  if  I  lost  the 
sustaining  power  stored  in  them  and  the  connecting  bladders, 
as  when  air  is  let  out  of  a  balloon,  and  found  myself  precipi- 
tated again  to  earth;  saved,  indeed,  by  some  spasmodic  flut- 
terings,  from  being  dashed  to  pieces,  but  not  saved  from  the 
bruises  and  the  stun  of  a  heavy  fall.  I  would,  however,  have 
persevered  in  my  attempts,  but  for  the  advice  or  the  com- 
mands of  the  scientific  Zee,  who  had  benevolently  accompa- 
nied my  flutterings,  and  indeed,  on  the  last  occasion,  flying 
just  under  me,  received  my  form  as  it  fell  on  her  own  ex- 
panded wings,  and  preserved  me  from  breaking  my  head  on 
the  roof  of  the  pyramid  from  which  we  had  ascended. 

"I  see,"  she  said,  "that  your  trials  are  in  vain,  not  from 
the  fault  of  the  wings  and  their  appurtenances,  nor  from  any 
imperfectness  and  malformation  of  your  own  corpuscular  sys- 
tem, but  from  irremediable,  because  organic,  defect  in  your 
power  of  volition.  Learn  that  the  connection  between  the 
will  and  the  agencies  of  that  fluid  which  has  been  subjected 
.to  the  control  of  the  Yril-ya  was  never  established  by  the  first 
discoverers,  never  achieved  by  a  single  generation;   it  has 


342  THE  COMING  RACE. 

gone  on  increasing,  like  other  properties  of  race,  in  propor- 
tion as  it  has  been  uniformly  transmitted  from  parent  to 
child,  so  that,  at  last,  it  has  become  an  instinct;  and  an  in- 
fant An  of  our  race  wills  to  fly  as  intuitively  and  uncon- 
sciously as  he  wills  to  walk.  He  thus  plies  his  invented  or 
artificial  wings  with  as  much  safety  as  a  bird  plies  those  with 
which  it  is  born.  I  did  not  think  sufficiently  of  this  when  I 
allowed  you  to  try  an  experiment  which  allured  me,  for  I 
longed  to  have  in  you  a  companion.  I  shall  abandon  the 
experiment  now.  Your  life  is  becoming  dear  to  me."  Here- 
with the  Gy's  voice  and  face  softened,  and  I  felt  more  seri- 
ously alarmed  than  I  had  been  in  my  previous  flights. 

Now  that  I  am  on  the  subject  of  wings,  I  ought  not  to  omit 
mention  of  a  custom  among  the  Gy-ei  which  seems  to  me  very 
pretty  and  tender  in  the  sentiment  it  implies.  A  Gy  wears 
wings  habitually  while  yet  a  virgin;  she  joins  the  Ana  in 
their  aerial  sports;  she  adventures  alone  and  afar  into  the 
wilder  regions  of  the  sunless  world:  in  the  boldness  and 
height  of  her  soarings,  not  less  than  in  the  grace  of  her  move- 
ments, she  excels  the  opposite  sex.  But  from  the  day  of 
marriage  she  wears  wings  no  more;  she  suspends  them  with 
her  own  willing  hand  over  the  nuptial  couch,  never  to  be  re- 
sumed unless  the  marriage  tie  be  severed  by  divorce  or  death. 

Now  when  Zee's  voice  and  eyes  thus  softened  —  and  at  that 
softening  I  prophetically  recoiled  and  shuddered  —  Tae,  who 
had  accompanied  us  in  our  flights,  but  who,  child-like,  had 
been  much  more  amused  with  my  awkwardness  than  sympa- 
thizing in  my  fears  or  aware  of  my  danger,  hovered  over  us, 
poised  amidst  the  still  radiant  air,  serene  and  motionless  on 
his  outspread  wings,  and  hearing  the  endearing  words  of  the 
young  Gy,  laughed  aloud.  Said  he,  "  If  the  Tish  cannot  learn 
the  use  of  wings,  you  may  still  be  his  companion,  Zee,  for 
you  can  suspend  your  own." 


THE  COMING  RACE.  343 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

I  HAD  for  some  time  observed  in  my  host's  highly  informed 
and  powerfully  proportioned  daughter  that  kindly  and  protec- 
tive sentiment  which,  whether  above  the  earth  or  below  it,  an 
all-wise  Providence  has  bestowed  upon  the  feminine  division 
of  the  human  race.  But  until  very  lately  I  had  ascribed  it  to 
that  affection  for  "  pets  "  which  a  human  female  at  every  age 
shares  with  a  human  child.  I  now  became  painfully  aware 
that  the  feeling  with  which  Zee  deigned  to  regard  me  was  dif- 
ferent from  that  which  I  had  inspired  in  Tae;  but  this  con- 
viction gave  me  none  of  that  complacent  gratification  which 
the  vanity  of  man  ordinarily  conceives  from  a  flattering  ap- 
preciation of  his  personal  merits  on  the  part  of  the  fair  sex;  on 
the  contrary,  it  inspired  me  with  fear.  Yet  of  all  the  Gy-ei 
in  the  community,  if  Zee  were  perhaps  the  wisest  and  the 
strongest,  she  was,  by  common  repute,  the  gentlest,  and  she  was 
certainly  the  most  popularly  beloved.  The  desire  to  aid,  to 
succour,  to  protect,  to  comfort,  to  bless,  seemed  to  pervade  her 
whole  being.  Though  the  complicated  miseries  that  origi- 
nate in  penury  and  guilt  are  unknown  to  the  social  system  of 
the  Vril-ya,  still,  no  sage  had  yet  discovered  in  vril  an  agency 
which  could  banish  sorrow  from  life ;  and  wherever  amongst 
her  people  sorrow  found  its  way,  there  Zee  followed  in  the 
mission  of  comforter.  Did  some  sister  Gy  fail  to  secure  the 
love  she  sighed  for?  Zee  sought  her  out,  and  brought  all 
the  resources  of  her  lore,  and  all  the  consolations  of  her 
sympathy,  to  bear  upon  a  grief  that  so  needs  the  solace  of  a 
confidant.  In  the  rare  cases  when  grave  illness  seized  upon 
childhood  or  youth,  and  the  cases,  less  rare,  when,  in  the 
hardy  and  adventurous  probation  of  infants,  some  accident 
attended  with  pain  and  injury  occurred,  Zee  forsook  her 
studies  and  her  sports,  and  became  the  healer  and  the  nurse. 
Her  favourite  flights  were  towards  the  extreme  boundaries  of 
the  domain,  where  children  were  stationed  on  guard  against 


344  THE  COMING  RACE. 

outbreaks  of  warring  forces  in  nature,  or  the  invasions  of  de- 
vouring animals,  so  that  she  might  warn  them  of  any  peril 
which  her  knowledge  detected  or  foresaw,  or  be  at  hand  if 
any  harm  should  befall.  Nay,  even  in  the  exercise  of  her 
scientific  acquirements  there  was  a  concurrent  benevolence  of 
purpose  and  will.  Did  she  learn  any  novelty  in  invention 
that  would  be  useful  to  the  practitioner  of  some  special  art  or 
craft?  She  hastened  to  communicate  and  explain  it.  Was 
some  veteran  sage  of  the  College  perplexed  and  wearied  with 
the  toil  of  an  abstruse  study?  She  would  patiently  devote 
herself  to  his  aid,  work  out  details  for  him,  sustain  his  spirits 
with  her  hopeful  smile,  quicken  his  wit  with  her  luminous 
suggestion,  be  to  him,  as  it  were,  his  own  good  genius  made 
visible  as  the  strengthener  and  inspirer.  The  same  tender- 
ness she  exhibited  to  the  inferior  creatures.  I  have  often 
known  her  bring  home  some  sick  and  wounded  animal,  and 
tend  and  cherish  it  as  a  mother  would  tend  and  cherish  her 
stricken  child.  Many  a  time  when  I  sat  in  the  balcony,  or 
hanging  garden,  on  which  my  window  opened,  I  have  watched 
her  rising  in  the  air  on  her  radiant  wings,  and  in  a  few  mo- 
ments groups  of  infants  below,  catching  sight  of  her,  would 
soar  upward  with  joyous  sounds  of  greeting;  clustering  and 
sporting  around  her,  so  that  she  seemed  a  very  centre  of  in- 
nocent delight.  When  I  have  walked  with  her  amidst  the 
rocks  and  valleys  without  the  city,  the  elk-deer  would  scent 
or  see  her  from  afar,  come  bounding  up,  eager  for  the  caress 
of  her  hand,  or  follow  her  footsteps,  till  dismissed  by  some 
musical  whisper  that  the  creature  had  learned  to  comprehend. 
It  is  the  fashion  among  the  virgin  Gy-ei  to  wear  on  their 
foreheads  a  circlet,  or  coronet,  with  gems  resembling  opals, 
arranged  in  four  points  or  rays  like  stars.  These  are  lustre- 
less in  ordinary  use,  but  if  touched  by  the  vril  wand  they 
take  a  clear  lambent  flame,  which  illuminates,  yet  not  burns. 
This  serves  as  an  ornament  in  their  festivities,  and  as  a  lamp, 
if,  in  their  wanderings  beyond  their  artificial  lights,  they  have 
to  traverse  the  dark.  There  are  times,  when  I  have  seen 
Zee's  thoughtful  majesty  of  face  lighted  up  by  this  crowning 
halo,  that  I  could  scarcely  believe  her  to  be  a  creature  of 


THE  COMING  RACE.  345 

mortal  birth,  and  bent  my  head  before  her  as  the  vision  of 
a  being  among  the  celestial  orders. 

But  never  once  did  my  heart  feel  for  this  lofty  type  of  the 
noblest  womanhood  a  sentiment  of  human  love.  Is  it  that, 
among  the  race  I  belong  to,  man's  pride  so  far  influences  his 
passions  that  woman  loses  to  him  her  special  charm  of  woman 
if  he  feels  her  to  be  in  all  things  eminently  superior  to  him- 
self? But  by  what  strange  infatuation  could  this  peerless 
daughter  of  a  race  which,  in  the  supremacy  of  its  powers 
and  the  felicity  of  its  conditions,  ranked  all  other  races  in 
the  category  of  barbarians,  have  deigned  to  honour  me  with 
her  preference?  In  personal  qualifications,  though  I  passed 
for  good-looking  among  the  people  I  came  from,  the  hand- 
somest of  my  countrymen  might  have  seemed  insignificant 
and  homely  beside  the  grand  and  serene  type  of  beauty  which 
characterized  the  aspect  of  the  Vril-ya. 

That  novelty,  the  very  difference  between  myself  and  those 
to  whom  Zee  was  accustomed,  might  serve  to  bias  her  fancy 
was  probable  enough,  and  as  the  reader  will  see  later,  such  a 
cause  might  suffice  to  account  for  the  predilection  with  which 
I  was  distinguished  by  a  young  Gy  scarcely  out  of  her  child- 
hood, and  very  inferior  in  all  respects  to  Zee.  But  whoever 
will  consider  those  tender  characteristics  which  I  have  just 
ascribed  to  the  daughter  of  Aph-Lin,  may  readily  conceive 
that  the  main  cause  of  my  attraction  to  her  was  in  her  in- 
stinctive desire  to  cherish,  to  comfort,  to  protect,  and,  in 
protecting,  to  sustain  and  to  exalt.  Thus,  when  I  look  back, 
I  account  for  the  only  weakness  unworthy  of  her  lofty  nature, 
which  bowed  the  daughter  of  the  Vril-ya  to  a  woman's  affec- 
tion for  one  so  inferior  to  herself  as  was  her  father's  guest. 
But  be  the  cause  what  it  may,  the  consciousness  that  I  had 
inspired  such  affection  thrilled  me  with  awe, —  a  moral  awe 
of  her  very  perfections,  of  her  mysterious  powers,  of  the  in- 
separable distinctions  between  her  race  and  my  own;  and 
with  that  awe,  I  must  confess  to  my  shame,  there  combined 
the  more  material  and  ignoble  dread  of  the  perils  to  which  her 
preference  would  expose  me. 

Could  it  be  supposed  for  a  moment  that  the  parents  and 


346  THE  COMING  RACE. 

friends  of  this  exalted  being  could  view  without  indignation 
and  disgust  the  possibility  of  an  alliance  between  herself  and 
a  Tish?  Her  they  could  not  punish,  her  they  could  not  con- 
tine  nor  restrain.  Neither  in  domestic  nor  in  political  life 
do  they  acknowledge  any  law  of  force  amongst  themselves; 
but  they  could  effectually  put  an  end  to  her  infatuation  by  a 
flash  of  vril  inflicted  upon  me. 

Under  these  anxious  circumstances,  fortunately,  my  con- 
science and  sense  of  honour  were  free  from  reproach.  Jt  be- 
came clearly  my  duty,  if  Zee's  preference  continued  manifest, 
to  intimate  it  to  my  host,  with,  of  course,  all  the  delicacy 
which  is  ever  to  be  preserved  by  a  well-bred  man  in  confiding 
to  another  any  degree  of  favour  by  which  one  of  the  fair  sex 
may  condescend  to  distinguish  him.  Thus,  at  all  events,  I 
should  be  freed  from  responsibility  or  suspicion  of  voluntary 
participation  in  the  sentiments  of  Zee;  and  the  superior  wis- 
dom of  my  host  might  probably  suggest  some  sage  extrication 
from  my  perilous  dilemma.  In  this  resolve  I  obeyed  the 
ordinary  instinct  of  civilized  and  moral  man,  who,  erring 
though  he  be,  still  generally  prefers  the  right  course  in  those 
cases  where  it  is  obviously  against  his  inclinations;  his  inter- 
ests, and  his  safety  to  elect  the  wrong  one. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

As  the  reader  has  seen,  Aph-Lin  had  not  favoured  my 
general  and  unrestricted  intercourse  with  his  countrymen. 
Though  relying  on  my  promise  to  abstain  from  giving  any 
information  as  to  the  world  I  had  left,  and  still  more  on  the 
promise  of  those  to  whom  had  been  put  the  same  request,  not 
to  question  me,  which  Zee  had  exacted  from  Tae,  yet  he  did 
not  feel  sure  that,  if  I  were  allowed  to  mix  with  the  strangers 
whose  curiosity  the  sight  of  me  had  aroused,  I  could  suffi- 
ciently guard  myself  against  their  inquiries.  When  I  went 
out,  therefore,  it  was  never  alone;  I  was  always  accompanied 


THE  COMING  RACE.  347 

either  by  one  of  my  host's  family,  or  my  child-friend  Tae. 
Bra,  Aph-Lin's  wife,  seldom  stirred  beyond  the  gardens  which 
surrounded  the  house,  and  was  fond  of  reading  the  ancient 
literature,  which  contained  something  of  romance  and  adven- 
ture not  to  be  found  in  the  writings  of  recent  ages,  and  pre- 
sented pictures  of  a  life  unfamiliar  to  her  experience  and 
interesting  to  her  imagination, —  pictures,  indeed,  of  a  life 
more  resembling  that  which  we  lead  every  day  above-ground, 
coloured  by  our  sorrows,  sins,  and  passions,  and  much  to  her 
what  the  Tales  of  the  Genii  or  the  Arabian  Nights  are  to  us. 
But  her  love  of  reading  did  not  prevent  Bra  from  the  dis- 
charge of  her  duties  as  mistress  of  the  largest  household  in 
the  city.  She  went  daily  the  round  of  the  chambers,  and 
saw  that  the  automata  and  other  mechanical  contrivances 
were  in  order,  that  the  numerous  children  employed  by  Aph- 
Lin,  whether  in  his  private  or  public  capacity,  were  carefully 
tended.  Bra  also  inspected  the  accounts  of  the  whole  estate, 
and  it  was  her  great  delight  to  assist  her  husband  in  the  busi- 
ness connected  with  his  office  as  chief  administrator  of  the 
Lighting  Department,  so  that  her  avocations  necessarily  kept 
her  much  within  doors.  The  two  sons  were  both  completing 
their  education  at  the  College  of  Sages;  and  the  elder,  who 
had  a  strong  passion  for  mechanics,  and  especially  for  works 
connected  with  the  machinery  of  timepieces  and  automata, 
had  decided  on  devoting  himself  to  these  pursuits,  and  was 
now  occupied  in  constructing  a  shop,  or  warehouse,  at  which 
his  inventions  could  be  exhibited  and  sold.  The  younger 
son  preferred  farming  and  rural  occupations ;  and  when  not 
attending  the  College,  at  which  he  chiefly  studied  the  theories 
of  agriculture,  was  much  absorbed  by  his  practical  application 
of  that  science  to  his  father's  lands.  It  will  be  seen  by  this 
how  completely  equality  of  ranks  is  established  among  this 
people,  a  shopkeeper  being  of  exactly  the  same  grade  in  esti- 
mation as  the  large  landed  proprietor.  Aph-Lin  was  the 
wealthiest  member  of  the  community,  and  his  eldest  son  pre- 
ferred keeping  a  shop  to  any  other  avocation;  nor  was  this 
choice  thought  to  show  any  want  of  elevated  notions  on  his 
part. 


348  THE   COMING  RACE. 

This  young  man  had  been  much  interested  in  examining 
my  watch,  the  works  of  which  were  new  to  him,  and  was 
greatly  pleased  when  I  made  him  a  present  of  it.  Shortly 
after,  he  returned  the  gift  with  interest,  by  a  watch  of  his 
own  construction,  marking  both  the  time  as  in  my  watch  and 
the  time  as  kept  among  the  Vril-ya.  I  have  that  watch  still, 
and  it  has  been  much  admired  by  many  among  the  most  emi- 
nent watchmakers  of  London  and  Paris.  It  is  of  gold,  with 
diamond  hands  and  figures,  and  it  plays  a  favourite  tune 
among  the  Vril-ya  in  striking  the  hours ;  it  only  requires  to 
be  wound  up  once  in  ten  months,  and  has  never  gone  wrong 
since  I  had  it.  These  young  brothers  being  thus  occupied, 
my  usual  companions  in  that  family,  when  I  went  abroad, 
were  my  host  or  his  daughter.  Now,  agreeably  with  the 
honourable  conclusions  I  had  come  to,  I  began  to  excuse 
myself  from  Zee's  invitations  to  go  out  alone  with  her,  and 
seized  an  occasion  when  that  learned  Gy  was  delivering  a  lec- 
ture at  the  College  of  Sages  to  ask  Aph-Lin  to  show  me  his 
country-seat.  As  this  was  at  some  little  distance,  and  as 
Aph-Lin  was  not  fond  of  walking,  while  I  had  discreetly  re- 
linquished all  attempts  at  flying,  we  proceeded  to  our  desti- 
nation in  one  of  the  aerial  boats  belonging  to  my  host.  A 
child  of  eight  years  old,  in  his  employ,  w^as  our  conductor. 
My  host  and  myself  reclined  on  cushions,  and  I  found  the 
movement  very  easy  and  luxurioug. 

"Aph-Lin,"  said  I,  "you  will  not,  I  trust,  be  displeased 
with  me,  if  I  ask  your  permission  to  travel  for  a  short  time, 
and  visit  other  tribes  or  communities  of  your  illustrious  race. 
I  have  also  a  strong  desire  to  see  those  nations  which  do  not 
adopt  your  institutions,  and  which  you  consider  as  savages. 
It  would  interest  me  greatly  to  notice  what  are  the  distinc- 
tions between  them  and  the  races  whom  we  consider  civilized 
in  the  world  I  have  left." 

"It  is  utterly  impossible  that  you  should  go  hence  alone," 
said  Aph-Lin.  "Even  among  the  Vril-ya  you  would  be  ex- 
posed to  great  dangers.  Certain  peculiarities  of  formation 
and  colour,  and  the  extraordinary  phenomenon  of  hirsute 
bushes  upon  your  cheeks  and  chin,  denoting  in  you  a  species 


THE  COMING  RACE.  349 

of  An  distinct  alike  from  our  race  and  any  known  race  of 
barbarians  yet  extant,  would  attract,  of  course,  the  special 
attention  of  the  College  of  Sages  in  whatever  community  of 
Vril-ya  you  visited;  and  it  would  depend  upon  the  individual 
temper  of  some  individual  sage  whether  you  would  be  re- 
ceived, as  you  have  been  here,  hospitably,  or  whether  you 
would  not  be  at  once  dissected  for  scientific  purposes.  Know 
that  when  the  Tur  first  took  you  to  his  house,  and  while  you 
were  there  put  to  sleep  by  Tae  in  order  to  recover  from  your 
previous  pain  or  fatigue,  the  sages  summoned  by  the  Tur  were 
divided  in  opinion  whether  you  were  a  harmless  or  an  ob- 
noxious animal.  During  your  unconscious  state  your  teeth 
were  examined,  and  they  clearly  showed  that  you  were  not 
only  graminivorous,  but  carnivorous.  Carnivorous  animals 
of  your  size  are  always  destroyed,  as  being  of  dangerous  and 
savage  nature.  Our  teeth,  as  you  have  doubtless  observed,  ^ 
are  not  those  of  the  creatures  who  devour  flesh.  It  is,  in- 
deed, maintained  by  Zee  and  other  philosophers  that  as,  in 
remote  ages,  the  Ana  did  prey  upon  living  beings  of  the 
brute  species,  their  teeth  must  have  been  fitted  for  that  pur- 
pose ;  but,  even  if  so,  they  have  been  modified  by  hereditary 
transmission,  and  suited  to  the  food  on  which  we  now  exist; 
nor  are  even  the  barbarians,  who  adopt  the  turbulent  and 
ferocious  institutions  of  Glek-Nas,  devourers  of  flesh  like 
beasts  of  prey. 

"  In  the  course  of  this  dispute  it  was  proposed  to  dissect 
you;  but  Tae  begged  you  off,  and  the  Tur  being,  by  ofl&ce, 
averse  to  all  novel  experiments  at  variance  with  our  custom 
of  sparing  life,  except  where  it  is  clearly  proved  to  be  for  the 
good  of  the  community  to  take  it,  sent  to  me,  whose  business 
it  is,  as  the  richest  man  of  the  State,  to  afford  hospitality  to 
strangers  from  a  distance.  It  was  at  my  option  to  decide 
whether  or  not  you  were  a  stranger  whom  I  could  safely  ad- 
mit. Had  I  declined  to  receive  you,  you  would  have  been 
handed  over  to  the  College  of  Sages,  and  what  might  there 
have  befallen  you  I  do  not  like  to  conjecture.     Apart  from 

1  I  never  had  observed  it ;  and,  if  I  had,  am  not  physiologist  enough  to 
have  distinguished  the  difference. 


350  THE  COMING  RACE. 

this  danger,  you  might  chance  to  encounter  some  child  of  four 
years  old,  just  put  in  possession  of  his  vril  staff;  and  who,  in 
alarm  at  your  strange  appearance,  and  in  the  impulse  of  the 
moment,  might  reduce  you  to  a  cinder.  Tae  himself  was 
about  to  do  so  when  he  first  saw  you,  had  his  father  not 
checked  his  hand.  Therefore  I  say  you  cannot  travel  alone ; 
but  with  Zee  you  would  be  safe,  and  I  have  no  doubt  that 
she  would  accompany  you  on  a  tour  round  the  neighbouring 
communities  of  Vril-ya  (to  the  savage  States,  No!).  I  will 
ask  her." 

Now,  as  my  main  object  in  proposing  to  travel  was  to  es- 
cape from  Zee,  I  hastily  exclaimed,  "Nay,  pray  do  not!  I 
relinquish  my  design.  You  have  said  enough  as  to  its  dan- 
gers to  deter  me  from  it;  and  I  can  scarcely  think  it  right 
that  a  young  Gy  of  the  personal  attractions  of  your  lovely 
daughter  should  travel  into  other  regions  without  a  better 
protector  than  a  Tish  of  my  insignificant  strength  and 
stature." 

Aph-Lin  emitted  the  soft  sibilant  sound  which  is  the 
nearest  approach  to  laughter  that  a  full-grown  An  permits 
to  himself  ere  he  replied :  "  Pardon  my  discourteous  but  mo- 
mentary indulgence  of  mirth  at  any  observation  seriously 
made  by  my  guest.  I  could  not  but  be  amused  at  the  idea  of 
Zee,  who  is  so  fond  of  protecting  others  that  children  call 
her  *THE  GUARDIAN,'  needing  a  protector  herself  against  any 
dangers  arising  from  the  audacious  admiration  of  males. 
Know  that  our  Gy-ei,  while  unmarried,  are  accustomed  to 
travel  alone  among  other  tribes,  to  see  if  they  find  there  some 
An  who  may  please  them  more  than  the  Ana  they  find  at 
home.  Zee  has  already  made  three  such  journeys,  but  hitherto 
her  heart  has  been  untouched." 

Here  the  opportunity  which  I  sought  was  afforded  to  me, 
and  I  said,  looking  down,  and  with  faltering  voice,  "Will 
you,  my  kind  host,  promise  to  pardon  me,  if  what  I  am  about 
to  say  gives  you  offence?  " 

"  Say  only  the  truth,  and  I  cannot  be  offended ;  or,  could  I 
be  so,  it  would  be  not  for  me,  but  for  you  to  pardon." 

"Well,  then,  assist  me  to  quit  you,  and,  much  as  I  should 


THE  COMING  RACE.  351 

have  liked,  to  witness  more  of  the  wonders,  and  enjoy  more 
of  the  felicity,  which  belong  to  your  people,  let  me  return  to 
my  own," 

"  I  fear  there  are  reasons  why  I  cannot  do  that ;  at  all  events, 
not  without  permission  of  the  Tur,  and  he  probably  would 
not  grant  it.  You  are  not  destitute  of  intelligence;  you  may 
(though  I  do  not  think  so)  have  concealed  the  degree  of  de- 
structive powers  possessed  by  your  people;  you  might,  in 
short,  bring  upon  us  some  danger;  and  if  the  Tur  entertains 
that  idea,  it  would  clearly  be  his  duty  either  to  put  an  end  to 
you,  or  enclose  you  in  a  cage  for  the  rest  of  your  existence. 
But  why  should  you  wish  to  leave  a  state  of  society  which 
you  so  politely  allow  to  be  more  felicitous  than  your  own?" 

"Oh,  Aph-Lin!  my  answer  is  plain.  Lest  in  aught,  and 
unwittingly,  I  should  betray  your  hospitality;  lest,  in  that 
caprice  of  will  which  in  our  world  is  proverbial  among  the 
other  sex,  and  from  which  even  a  Gy  is  not  free,  your  adora- 
ble daughter  should  deign  to  regard  me,  though  a  Tish,  as  if 
I  were  a  civilized  An,  and  —  and  —  and  —  " 

"Court  you  as  her  spouse,"  put  in  Aph-Lin,  gravely,  and 
without  any  visible  sign  of  surprise  or  displeasure. 

"You  have  said  it." 

"That  would  be  a  misfortune,"  resumed  my  host,  after  a 
pause ;  "  and  I  feel  that  you  have  acted  as  you  ought  in  warn- 
ing me.  It  is,  as  you  imply,  not  uncommon  for  an  unwedded 
Gy  to  conceive  tastes  as  to  the  object  she  covets  which  appear 
w^himsical  to  others ;  but  there  is  no  power  to  compel  a  young 
Gy  to  any  course  opposed  to  that  which  she  chooses  to  pursue. 
All  we  can  do  is  to  reason  with  her,  and  experience  tells  us 
that  the  whole  College  of  Sages  would  find  it  vain  to  reason 
with  a  Gy  in  a  matter  that  concerns  her  choice  in  love.  I 
grieve  for  you,  because  such  a  marriage  would  be  against  the 
Aglauran,  or  good  of  the  community,  for  the  children  of  such 
a  marriage  would  adulterate  the  race:  they  might  even  come 
into  the  world  with  the  teeth  of  carnivorous  animals;  this 
could  not  be  allowed.  Zee,  as  a  Gy,  cannot  be  controlled; 
but  you,  as  a  Tish,  can  be  destroyed.  I  advise  you,  then,  to 
resist  her  addresses ;  to  tell  her  plainly  that  you  can  never 


352  .         THE  COMING  RACE. 

return  her  love.  This  happens  constantly.  Many  an  An, 
however  ardently  wooed  by  one  Gy,  rejects  her,  and  puts  an 
end  to  her  persecution  by  wedding  another.  The  same  course 
is  open  to  you." 

*'  No ;  for  I  cannot  wed  another  Gy  without  equally  injur- 
ing the  community,  and  exposing  it  to  the  chance  of  rearing 
carnivorous  children." 

"That  is  true.  All  I  can  say,  and  I  say  it  with  the  tender- 
ness due  to  a  Tish,  and  the  respect  due  to  a  guest,  is  frankly 
this, —  if  you  yield,  you  will  become  a  cinder.  I  must  leave 
it  to  you  to  take  the  best  way  you  can  to  defend  yourself. 
Perhaps  you  had  better  tell  Zee  that  she  is  ugly.  That  assur- 
ance on  the  lips  of  him  she  woos  generally  suffices  to  chill  the 
most  ardent  Gy.     Here  we  are  at  my  country-house." 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

I  CONFESS  that  my  conversation  with  Aph-Lin,  and  the  ex- 
treme coolness  with  which  he  stated  his  inability  to  control 
the  dangerous  caprice  of  his  daughter,  and  treated  the  idea  of 
the  reduction  into  a  cinder  to  which  her  amorous  flame  might 
expose  my  too  seductive  person,  took  aAvay  the  pleasure  I 
should  otherwise  have  had  in  the  contemplation  of  my  host's 
country-seat,  and  the  astonishing  perfection  of  the  machinery 
by  which  his  farming  operations  were  conducted.  The  house 
differed  in  appearance  from  the  massive  and  sombre  building 
which  Aph-Lin  inhabited  in  the  city,  and  which  seemed  akin 
to  the  rocks  out  of  which  the  city  itself  had  been  hewn  into 
shape.  The  walls  of  the  country-seat  were  composed  by  trees 
placed  a  few  feet  apart  from  each  other,  the  interstices  being 
filled  in  with  the  transparent  metallic  substance  which  serves 
the  purpose  of  glass  among  the  Ana.  These  trees  were  all  in 
flower,  and  the  effect  was  very  pleasing,  if  not  in  the  best 
taste.  We  were  received  at  the  porch  by  lifelike  automata, 
who  conducted  us  into  a  chamber,  the  like  to  which  I  never 


THE  COMING   RACE.  353 

saw  before,  but  have  often  on  summer  days  dreamily  imagined. 
It  was  a  bower, —  half  room,  half  garden.  The  walls  were 
one  mass  of  climbing  flowers.  The  open  spaces,  which  we 
call  windows,  and  in  which,  here,  the  metallic  surfaces  were 
slided  back,  commanded  various  views, —  some,  of  the  wide 
landscape  with  its  lakes  and  rocks;  some,  of  small  limited 
expanse  answering  to  our  conservatories,  filled  with  tiers  of 
flowers.  Along  the  sides  of  the  room  were  flower-beds,  inter- 
spersed with  cushions  for  repose.  In  the  centre  of  the  floor 
were  a  cistern  and  a  fountain  of  that  liquid  light  which  I 
have  presumed  to  be  naphtha.  It  was  luminous,  and  of  a 
roseate  hue;  it  sufficed  without  lamps  to  light  up  the  room 
with  a  subdued  radiance.  All  around  the  fountain  was  car- 
peted with  a  soft  deep  lichen,  not  green  (I  have  never  seen 
that  colour  in  the  vegetation  of  this  country),  but  a  quiet 
brown,  on  which  the  eye  reposes  with  the  same  sense  of  relief 
as  that  with  which  in  the  upper  world  it  reposes  on  green. 
In  the  outlets  upon  flowers  (which  I  have  compared  to  our 
conservatories)  there  were  singing-birds  innumerable,  which, 
while  we  remained  in  the  room,  sang  in  those  harmonies  of 
tune  to  which  they  are,  in  these  parts,  so  wonderfully  trained. 
The  roof  was  open.  The  whole  scene  had  charms  for  every 
sense, —  music  from  the  birds,  fragrance  from  the  flowers, 
and  varied  beauty  to  the  eye  at  every  aspect.  About  all  was 
a  voluptuous  repose.  "What  a  place,  methought,  for  a  honey- 
moon, if  a  Gy  bride  were  a  little  less  formidably  armed  not 
only  with  the  rights  of  woman,  but  with  the  powers  of  man! 
but  when  one  thinks  of  a  Gy  so  learned,  so  tall,  so  stately,  so 
much  above  the  standard  of  the  creature  we  call  woman,  as 
was  Zee, —  no!  even  if  I  had  felt  no  fear  of  being  reduced  to 
a  cinder,  it  is  not  of  her  I  should  have  dreamed  in  that  bower 
so  constructed  for  dreams  of  poetic  love. 

The  automata  reappeared,  serving  one  of  those  delicious 
liquids  which  form  the  innocent  wines  of  the  Vril-ya. 

"Truly,"  said  I,  "this  is  a  charming  residence,  and  I  can 
scarcely  conceive  why  you  do  not  settle  yourself  here  instead 
of  amid  the  gloomier  abodes  of  the  city." 

"As  responsible  to  the  community  for  the  administration 

23 


354  THE  COMING  RACE. 

of  light,  I  am  compelled  to  reside  chiefly  in  the  city,  and  can 
only  come  hither  for  short  intervals." 

"  But  since  I  understand  from  you  that  no  honours  are  at- 
tached to  your  office,  and  it  involves  some  trouble,  why  do 
you  accept  it?  " 

"Each  of  us  obeys  without  question  the  command  of  the 
Tur.  He  said,  'Be  it  requested  that  Aph-Lin  shall  be  Com- 
missioner of  Light,'  so  I  had  no  choice;  but  having  held  the 
office  now  for  a  long  time,  the  cares,  which  were  at  first  un- 
welcome, have  become,  if  not  pleasing,  at  least  endurable. 
We  are  all  formed  by  custom, —  even  the  difference  of  our 
race  from  the  savage  is  but  the  transmitted  continuance  of 
custom,  which  becomes,  through  hereditary  descent,  part  and 
parcel  of  our  nature.  You  see  there  are  Ana  who  even  recon- 
cile themselves  to  the  responsibilities  of  chief  magistrate ;  but 
no  one  would  do  so  if  his  duties  had  not  been  rendered  so 
light,  or  if  there  were  any  questions  as  to  compliance  with 
his  requests." 

"Not  even  if  you  thought  the  requests  unwise  or  unjust?  " 

"  We  do  not  allow  ourselves  to  think  so ;  and  indeed,  every- 
thing goes  on  as  if  each  and  all  governed  themselves  accord- 
ing to  immemorial  custom." 

"When  the  chief  magistrate  dies  or  retires,  how  do  you 
provide  for  his  successor?  " 

"  The  An  who  has  discharged  the  duties  of  chief  magistrate 
for  many  years  is  the  best  person  to  choose  one  by  whom 
those  duties  may  be  understood,  and  he  generally  names  his 
successor." 

"His  son,  perhaps?  " 

"Seldom  that;  for  it  is  not  an  office  any  one  desires  or 
seeks,  and  a  father  naturally  hesitates  to  constrain  his  son. 
But  if  the  Tur  himself  decline  to  make  a  choice,  for  fear  it 
might  be  supposed  that  he  owed  some  grudge  to  the  person 
on  whom  his  choice  would  settle,  then  there  are  three  of  the 
College  of  Sages  who  draw  lots  among  themselves  which  shall 
have  the  power  to  elect  the  chief.  We  consider  that  the  judg- 
ment of  one  An  of  ordinary  capacity  is  better  than  the  judg- 
ment of  three  or  more,  however  wise  they  may  be ;  for  among 


THE  COMING  RACE.  355 

three  there  would  probably  be  disputes,  and  where  there  are 
disputes,  passion  clouds  judgment.  The  worst  choice  made 
by  one  who  has  no  motive  in  choosing  wrong,  is  better  than 
the  best  choice  made  by  many  who  have  many  motives  for  not 
choosing  right." 

"You  reverse  in  your  policy  the  maxims  adopted  in  my 
country." 

"Are  you  all,  in  your  country,  satisfied  with  your 
governors?  " 

"All!  certainly  not;  the  governors  that  most  please  some 
are  sure  to  be  those  most  displeasing  to  others." 

"Then  our  system  is  better  than  yours." 

"  For  you  it  may  be ;  but  according  to  our  system  a  Tish 
could  not  be  reduced  to  a  cinder  if  a  female  compelled  him  to 
marry  her;  and  as  a  Tish  I  sigh  to  return  to  my  native 
world." 

"Take  courage,  my  dear  little  guest;  Zee  can't  compel  you 
to  marry  her, —  she  can  only  entice  you  to  do  so.  Don't  be 
enticed.     Come  and  look  round  my  domain." 

We  went  forth  into  a  close,  bordered  with  sheds ;  for  though 
the  Ana  keep  no  stock  for  food,  there  are  some  animals  which 
they  rear  for  milking  and  others  for  shearing.  The  former 
have  no  resemblance  to  our  cows,  nor  the  latter  to  our  sheep, 
nor  do  I  believe  such  species  exist  amongst  them.  They  use 
the  milk  of  three  varieties  of  animal :  one  resembles  the  ante- 
lope, but  is  much  larger,  being  as  tall  as  a  camel;  the  other 
two  are  smaller,  and,  though  differing  somewhat  from  each 
other,  resemble  no  creature  I  ever  saw  on  earth.  They  are 
very  sleek  and  of  rounded  proportions ;  their  colour  that  of 
the  dappled  deer,  with  very  mild  countenances  and  beautiful 
dark  eyes.  The  milk  of  these  three  creatures  differs  in  rich- 
ness and  in  taste.  It  is  usually  diluted  with  water,  and 
flavoured  with  the  juice  of  a  peculiar  and  perfumed  fruit,  and 
in  itself  is  very  nutritious  and  palatable.  The  animal  whose 
fleece  serves  them  for  clothing  and  many  other  purposes  is 
more  like  the  Italian  she-goat  than  any  other  creature,  but 
is  considerably  larger,  has  no  horns,  and  is  free  from  the  dis- 
pleasing odour  of  our  goats.     Its  fleece  is  not  thick,  but  very 


356  THE   COMING  RACE. 

long  and  fine;  it  varies  in  colour,  but  is  never  white,  more 
generally  of  a  slate-like  or  lavender  liue.  For  clothing  it  is 
usually  worn  dyed  to  suit  the  taste  of  the  wearer.  These  ani- 
mals were  exceedingly  tame,  and  were  treated  with  extraordi- 
nary care  and  affection  by  the  children  (chiefly  female)  who 
tended  them. 

We  then  went  through  vast  storehouses  filled  with  grains 
and  fruits.  I  may  here  observe  that  the  main  staple  of  food 
among  these  people  consists,  firstly,  of  a  kind  of  corn  much 
larger  in  ear  than  our  wheat,  and  which  by  culture  is  per- 
petually being  brought  into  new  varieties  of  flavour;  and, 
secondly,  of  a  fruit  of  about  the  size  of  a  small  orange,  which, 
when  gathered,  is  hard  and  bitter.  It  is  stowed  away  for 
many  months  in  their  warehouses,  and  then  becomes  succu- 
lent and  tender.  Its  juice,  which  is  of  dark-red  colour,  enters 
into  most  of  their  sauces.  They  have  many  kinds  of  fruit  of 
the  nature  of  the  olive,  from  which  delicious  oils  are  ex- 
tracted. They  have  a  plant  somewhat  resembling  the  sugar- 
cane, but  its  juices  are  less  sweet  and  of  a  delicate  perfume. 
They  have  no  bees  nor  honey-kneading  insects,  but  they  make 
much  use  of  a  sweet  gum  that  oozes  from  a  coniferous  plant, 
not  unlike  the  araucaria.  Their  soil  teems  also  with  esculent 
roots  and  vegetables,  which  it  is  the  aim  of  their  culture  to 
improve  and  vary  to  the  utmost.  And  I  never  remember  any 
meal  among  this  people,  however  it  might  be  confined  to  the 
family  household,  in  which  some  delicate  novelty  in  such 
articles  of  food  was  not  introduced.  In  fine,  as  I  before  ob- 
served, their  cookery  is  exquisite,  so  diversified  and  nutritious 
that  one  does  not  miss  animal  food;  and  their  own  physical 
forms  suffice  to  show  that  with  them,  at  least,  meat  is  not 
required  for  superior  production  of  muscular  fibre.  They 
have  no  grapes, —  the  drinks  extracted  from  their  fruits  are 
innocent  and  refreshing.  Their  staple  beverage,  however,  is 
water,  in  the  choice  of  which  they  are  very  fastidious,  dis- 
tinguishing at  once  the  slightest  impurity. 

"My  younger  son  takes  great  pleasure  in  augmenting  our 
produce,"  said  Aph-Lin,  as  we  passed  through  the  store- 
houses, "and  therefore  will  inherit  these  lands,  which  con- 


THE   COMING   RACE.  357 

stitute  the  chief  part  of  my  wealth.     To  my  elder  son  such 
inheritance  would  be  a  great  trouble  and  affliction." 

"Are  there  many  sons  among  you  who  think  the  inheritance 
of  vast  wealth  would  be  a  great  trouble  and  affliction?" 

"Certainly;  there  are  indeed  very  few  of  the  Vril-ya  who 
do  not  consider  that  a  fortune  much  above  the  average  is  a 
heavy  burden.  We  are  rather  a  lazy  people  after  the  age  of 
childhood,  and  do  not  like  undergoing  more  cares  than  we  can 
help,  and  great  wealth  does  give  its  owner  many  cares.  For 
instance,  it  marks  us  out  for  public  offices,  which  none  of  us 
like  and  none  of  us  can  refuse.  It  necessitates  our  taking  a 
continued  interest  in  the  affairs  of  any  of  our  poorer  country- 
men, so  that  we  may  anticipate  their  wants  and  see  that  none 
fall  into  poverty.  There  is  an  old  proverb  amongst  us  which 
says,  'The  poor  man's  need  is  the  rich  man's  shame  — '  " 

"Pardon  me,  if  I  interrupt  you  for  a  moment.  You  then 
allow  that  some,  even  of  the  Vril-ya,  know  want,  and  need 
relief?  " 

"If  by  want  you  mean  the  destitution  that  prevails  in  a 
Koom-Posh,  that  is  impossible  with  us,  unless  an  An  has,  by 
some  extraordinary  process,  got  rid  of  all  his  means,  cannot 
or  will  not  emigrate,  and  has  either  tired  out  the  affectionate 
aid  of  his  relations  or  personal  friends,  or  refuses  to  ac- 
cept it." 

"  Well,  then,  does  he  not  supply  the  place  of  an  infant  or 
automaton,  and  become  a  labourer,  a  servant?" 

"Ko;  then  we  regard  him  as  an  unfortunate  person  of  un- 
sound reason,  and  place  him,  at  the  expense  of  the  State,  in  a 
public  building,  where  every  comfort  and  every  luxury  that 
can  mitigate  his  affliction  are  lavished  upon  him.  But  an  An 
does  not  like  to  be  considered  out  of  his  mind,  and  therefore 
such  cases  occur  so  seldom  that  the  public  building  I  speak  of 
is  now  a  deserted  ruin,  and  the  last  inmate  of  it  was  an  An 
whom  I  recollect  to  have  seen  in  my  childhood.  He  did  not 
seem  conscious  of  loss  of  reason,  and  wrote  glaubs  (poetry). 
When  I  spoke  of  wants,  I  meant  such  wants  as  an  An  with 
desires  larger  than  his  means  sometimes  entertains, —  for  ex- 
pensive singing-birds,  or  bigger  houses,  or  country-gardens;  ' 


358  THE  COMING  RACE. 

and  the  obvious  way  to  satisfy  sucli  wants  is  to  buy  of  him 
something  that  he  sells.  Hence  Ana  like  myself,  who  are 
very  rich,  are  obliged  to  buy  a  great  many  things  they  do  not 
require,  and  live  on  a  very  large  scale  where  they  might  pre- 
fer to  live  on  a  small  one.  For  instance,  the  great  size  of  my 
house  in  the  town  is  a  source  of  much  trouble  to  my  wife,  and 
even  to  myself;  but  I  am  compelled  to  have  it  thus  incommo- 
diously large,  because,  as  the  richest  An  of  the  community,  I 
am  appointed  to  entertain  the  strangers  from  the  other  com- 
munities when  they  visit  us,  which  they  do  in  great  crowds 
twice  a  year,  when  certain  periodical  entertainments  are  held, 
and  when  relations  scattered  throughout  all  the  realms  of  the 
Vril-ya  joyfully  reunite  for  a  time.  This  hospitality,  on  a 
scale  so  extensive,  is  not  to  my  taste,  and  therefore  I  should 
have  been  happier  had  I  been  less  rich.  But  we  must  all 
bear  the  lot  assigned  to  us  in  this  short  passage  through  time 
that  we  call  life.  After  all,  what  are  a  hundred  years,  more 
or  less,  to  the  ages  through  which  we  must  pass  hereafter? 
Luckily,  I  have  one  son  who  likes  great  wealth.  It  is  a  rare 
exception  to  the  general  rule,  and  I  own  I  cannot  myself  un- 
derstand it." 

After  this  conversation  I  sought  to  return  to  the  subject 
which  continued  to  weigh  on  my  heart, —  namely,  the  chances 
of  escape  from  Zee;  but  my  host  politely  declined  to  renew 
that  topic,  and  summoned  our  air-boat.  On  our  way  back  we 
were  met  by  Zee,  who,  having  found  us  gone,  on  her  return 
from  the  College  of  Sages,  had  unfurled  her  wings  and  flown 
in  search  of  us. 

Her  grand,  but  to  me  unalluring,  countenance  brightened 
as  she  beheld  me,  and  poising  herself  beside  the  boat  on  her 
large  outspread  plumes,  she  said  reproachfully  to  Aph-Lin, 
"  Oh,  Father,  was  it  right  in  you  to  hazard  the  life  of  your 
guest  in  a  vehicle  to  which  he  is  so  unaccustomed?  He 
might,  by  an  incautious  movement,  fall  over  the  side;  and, 
alas!  he  is  not  like  us, — he  has  no  wings.  It  were  death  to 
him  to  fall.  —  Dear  one !  "  she  added,  accosting  my  shrinking 
self  in  a  softer  voice,  "  have  you  no  thought  of  me,  that  you 
should  thus  hazard  a  life  which  has  become  almost  a  part  of 


THE  COMING  RACE.  359 

mine?  Never  again  be  thus  rash,  unless  I  am  thy  companion. 
What  terror  thou  hast  stricken  into  me !  " 

I  ghmced  furtively  at  Aph-Lin,  expecting,  at  least,  that  he 
would  indignantly  reprove  his  daughter  for  expressions  of 
anxiety  and  affection,  which,  under  all  the  circumstances, 
would,  in  the  world  above  ground,  be  considered  immodest  in 
the  lips  of  a  young  female,  addressed  to  a  male  not  affianced 
to  her,  even  if  of  the  same  rank  as  herself. 

But  so  confirmed  are  the  rights  of  females  in  that  region, 
and  so  absolutely  foremost  among  those  rights  do  females 
claim  the  privilege  of  courtship,  that  Aph-Lin  would  no  more 
have  thought  of  reproving  his  virgin  daughter  than  he  would 
have  thought  of  disobeying  the  Tur.  In  that  country,  cus- 
tom, as  he  implied,  is  all  and  all. 

He  answered  mildly,  "  Zee,  the  Tish  was  in  no  danger,  and 
it  is  my  belief  that  he  can  take  very  good  care  of  himself." 

"I  would  rather  that  he  let  me  charge  myself  with  his  care. 

0  heart  of  my  heart,  it  was  in  the  thought  of  thy  danger  that 

1  first  felt  how  much  I  loved  thee !  " 

Never  did  man  feel  in  so  false  a  position  as  I  did.  These 
words  were  spoken  aloud  in  the  hearing  of  Zee's  father,  in 
the  hearing  of  the  child  who  steered.  I  blushed  with  shame 
for  them,  and  for  her,  and  could  not  help  replying  angrily : 
"Zee,  either  you  mock  me,  which,  as  your  father's  guest, 
misbecomes  you,  or  the  words  you  utter  are  improper  for  a 
maiden  Gy  to  address  even  to  an  An  of  her  own  race,  if  he 
has  not  wooed  her  with  the  consent  of  her  parents.  How 
much  more  improper  to  address  them  to  a  Tish,  who  has 
never  presumed  to  solicit  your  affections,  and  who  can  never 
regard  you  with  other  sentiments  than  those  of  reverence  and 
awe!  " 

Aph-Lin  made  me  a  covert  sign  of  approbation,  but  said 
nothing. 

"  Be  not  so  cruel !  "  exclaimed  Zee,  still  in  sonorous  ac- 
cents. "Can  love  command  itself  where  it  is  truly  felt? 
Do  you  suppose  that  a  maiden  Gy  will  conceal  a  sentiment 
that  it  elevates  her  to  feel?  What  a  country  you  must  have 
come  from !  " 


360  THE  COMING  RACE. 

Here  Aph-Lin  gently  interposed,  saying,  "Among  the 
Tish-a  the  rights  of  your  sex  do  not  appear  to  be  established ; 
and  at  all  events  my  guest  may  converse  with  you  more  freely 
if  unchecked  by  the  presence  of  others." 

To  this  remark  Zee  made  no  reply,  but,  darting  on  me 
a  tender  reproachul  glance,  agitated  her  wings  and  fled 
homeward. 

"I  had  counted,  at  least,  on  some  aid  from  my  host,"  said 
I,  bitterly,  "  in  the  perils  to  which  his  own  daughter  exposes 
me." 

"  I  gave  you  the  best  aid  I  could.  To  contradict  a  Gy  in  her 
love  affairs  is  to  confirm  her  purpose.  She  allows  no  counsel 
to  come  between  her  and  her  affections." 


CHAPTEIC  XXIV. 

On  alighting  from  the  air-boat,  a  child  accosted  Aph-Lin 
in  the  hall  with  a  request  that  he  would  be  present  at  the 
funeral  obsequies  of  a  relation  who  had  recently  departed 
from  that  nether  world. 

Now,  I  had  never  seen  a  burial-place  or  cemetery  amongst 
this  people,  and,  glad  to  seize  even  so  melancholy  an  occasion 
to  defer  an  encounter  with  Zee,  I  asked  Aph-Lin  if  I  might 
be  permitted  to  witness  with  him  the  interment  of  his  rela- 
tion; unless,  indeed,  it  were  regarded  as  one  of  those  sacred 
ceremonies  to  which  a  stranger  to  their  race  might  not  be 
admitted. 

"The  departure  of  an  An  to  a  happier  world,"  answered 
my  host,  "  when,  as  in  the  case  of  my  kinsman,  he  has  lived 
so  long  in  this  as  to  have  lost  pleasure  in  it,  is  rather  a  cheer- 
ful though  quiet  festival  than  a  sacred  ceremony,  and  you 
may  accompany  me  if  you  will." 

Preceded  by  the  child-messenger,  we  walked  up  the  main 
street  to  a  house  at  some  little  distance,  and,  entering  the 
hall,  were  conducted  to  a  room  on  the  ground-floor,  where  we 


THE  COMING  RACE.  361 

found  several  persons  assembled  round  a  couch  on  which  was 
laid  the  deceased.  It  was  an  old  man,  who  had,  as  I  was 
told,  lived  beyond  his  one  hundred  and  thirtieth  year.  To 
judge  by  the  calm  smile  on  his  countenance,  he  had  passed 
away  without  suffering.  One  of  the  sons,  who  was  now  the 
head  of  the  family,  and  who  seemed  in  vigorous  middle  life, 
though  he  was  considerably  more  than  seventy,  stepped  for- 
ward with  a  cheerful  face  and  told  Aph-Lin  that  the  day  be- 
fore he  died  his  father  had  seen  in  a  dream  his  departed  Gy, 
and  was  eager  to  be  reunited  to  her,  and  restored  to  youth 
beneath  the  nearer  smile  of  the  All-Good. 

While  these  two  were  talking,  my  attention  was  drawn  to  a 
dark  metallic  substance  at  the  farther  end  of  the  room.  It 
was  about  twenty  feet  in  length,  narrow  in  proportion,  and 
all  closed  round,  save,  near  the  roof,  there  were  small  round 
holes  through  which  might  be  seen  a  red  light.  From  the  in- 
terior emanated  a  rich  and  sweet  perfume ;  and  while  I  was 
conjecturing  what  purpose  this  machine  was  to  serve,  all  the 
timepieces  in  the  town  struck  the  hour  with  their  solemn 
musical  chime;  and  as  that  sound  ceased,  music  of  a  more 
joyous  character,  but  still  of  a  joy  subdued  and  tranquil,  rang 
throughout  the  chamber,  and  from  the  walls  beyond,  in  a 
choral  peal.  Symphonious  with  the  melody,  those  present 
lifted  their  voice  in  chant.  The  words  of  this  hymn  were 
simple.  They  expressed  no  regret,  no  farewell,  but  rather 
a  greeting  to  the  new  world  whither  the  deceased  had  pre- 
ceded the  living.  Indeed,  in  their  language,  the  funeral 
hymn  is  called  the  "Birth  Song."  Then  the  corpse,  covered 
by  a  long  cerement,  was  tenderly  lifted  up  by  six  of  the 
nearest  kinsfolk,  and  borne  towards  the  dark  thing  I  have 
described.  I  pressed  forward  to  see  what  happened.  A  slid- 
ing door  or  panel  at  one  end  was  lifted  up,  the  body  de- 
posited within,  on  a  shelf,  the  door  reclosed,  a  spring  at  the 
side  touched,  a  sudden  whisking,  sighing  sound  heard  from 
within;  and  lo!  at  the  other  end  of  the  machine  the  lid  fell 
down,  and  a  small  handful  of  smouldering  dust  dropped  into 
a  patera  placed  to  receive  it.  The  son  took  up  the  patera  and 
said  (in  what  I  understood  afterwards  was  the  usual  form  of 


362  THE  COMING  RACE. 

words),  "Behold  how  great  is  the  Maker!  To  this  little  dust 
He  gave  form  and  life  and  soul.  It  needs  not  this  little  dust 
for  Him  to  renew  form  and  life  and  soul  to  the  beloved  one 
we  shall  soon  see  again." 

Each  present  bowed  his  head  and  pressed  his  hand  to  his 
heart.  Then  a  young  female  child  opened  a  small  door  within 
the  wall,  and  I  perceived,  in  the  recess,  shelves  on  which 
were  placed  many  paterce  like  that  which  the  son  held,  save 
that  they  all  had  covers.  With  such  a  cover  a  Gy  now  ap- 
proached the  son,  and  placed  it  over  the  cup,  on  which  it 
closed  with  a  spring.  On  the  lid  were  engraven  the  name  of 
the  deceased,  and  these  words :  "  Lent  to  us  "  (here  the  date 
of  birth).     "Recalled  from  us  "  (here  the  date  of  death). 

The  closed  door  shut  with  a  musical  sound,  and  all  was 
over. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

"And  this,"  said  I,  with  my  mind  full  of  what  I  had 
witnessed, —  "this,  I  presume,  is  your  usual  form  of  burial?  " 

"Our  invariable  form,"  answered  Aph-Lin.  "What  is  it 
amongst  your  people?  " 

"We  inter  the  body  whole  within  the  earth." 

"What!  to  degrade  the  form  you  have  loved  and  honoured, 
the  wife  on  whose  breast  you  have  slept,  to  the  loathsomeness 
of  corruption?  " 

"But  if  the  soul  lives  again,  can  it  matter  whether  the 
body  waste  within  the  earth  or  is  reduced  by  that  awful 
mechanism,  worked,  no  doubt  by  the  agency  of  vril,  into  a 
pinch  of  dust? " 

"You  answer  well,"  said  my  host,  "and  there  is  no  arguing 
on  a  matter  of  feeling;  but  to  me  your  custom  is  horrible  and 
repulsive,  and  would  serve  to  invest  death  with  gloomy  and 
hideous  associations.  It  is  something,  too,  to  my  mind,  to  be 
able  to  preserve  the  token  of  what  has  been  our  kinsman  or 
friend  within  the  abode  in  which  we  live.    We  thus  feel  more 


THE  COMING  RACE.  363 

sensibly  that  he  still  lives,  though  not  visibly  so  to  us.  But 
our  sentiments  in  this,  as  in  all  things,  are  created  by  cus- 
tom. Custom  is  not  to  be  changed  by  a  wise  An,  any  more 
than  it  is  changed  by  a  wise  Community,  without  the  gravest 
deliberation,  followed  by  the  most  earnest  conviction.  It  is 
only  thus  that  change  ceases  to  be  changeability,  and  once 
made  is  made  for  good." 

When  we  regained  the  house,  Aph-Lin  summoned  some  of 
the  children  in  his  service  and  sent  them  round  to  several  of 
his  friends,  requesting  their  attendance  that  day,  during  the 
Easy  Hours,  to  a  festival  in  honour  of  his  kinsman's  recall 
to  the  All-Good.  This  was  the  largest  and  gayest  assembly 
I  ever  witnessed  during  my  stay  among  the  Ana,  and  was 
prolonged  far  into  the  Silent  Hours. 

The  banquet  was  spread  in  a  vast  chamber  reserved  especi- 
ally for  grand  occasions.  This  differed  from  our  entertain- 
ments, and  was  not  without  a  certain  resemblance  to  those 
we  read  of  in  the  luxurious  age  of  the  Roman  empire.  There 
was  not  one  great  table  set  out,  but  numerous  small  tables, 
each  appropriated  to  eight  guests.  It  is  considered  that  be- 
yond that  number  conversation  languishes  and  friendship 
cools.  The  Ana  never  laugh  loud,  as  I  have  before  observed, 
but  the  cheerful  ring  of  their  voices  at  the  various  tables  be- 
tokened gayety  of  intercourse.  As  they  have  no  stimulant 
drinks,  and  are  temperate  in  food,  though  so  choice  and 
dainty,  the  banquet  itself  did  not  last  long.  The  tables  sank 
through  the  floor,  and  then  came  musical  entertainments  for 
those  who  liked  them.  Many,  however,  wandered  away :  some 
of  the  younger  ascended  on  their  wings,  for  the  hall  was  roof- 
less, forming  aerial  dances;  others  strolled  through  the  vari- 
ous apartments,  examining  the  curiosities  with  which  they 
were  stored,  or  formed  themselves  into  groups  for  various 
games,  the  favourite  of  which  is  a  complicated  kind  of  chess 
played  by  eight  persons.  I  mixed  with  the  crowd,  but  was 
prevented  joining  in  their  conversation  by  the  constant  com- 
panionship of  one  or  the  other  of  my  host's  sons,  appointed 
to  keep  me  from  obtrusive  questionings.  The  guests,  how- 
ever, noticed  me  but  slightly;  they  had  grown  accustomed  to 


364  THE  COMING  RACE. 

my  appearance,  seeing  me  so  often  in  the  streets,  and  I  had 
ceased  to  excite  much  curiosity. 

To  my  great  delight  Zee  avoided  me,  and  evidently  sought 
to  excite  my  jealousy  by  marked  attentions  to  a  very  hand- 
some young  An,  who  (though,  as  is  the  modest  custom  of  the 
males  when  addressed  by  females,  he  answered  with  down- 
cast eyes  and  blushing  cheeks,  and  was  demure  and  shy  as 
young  ladies  new  to  the  world  are  in  most  civilized  countries, 
except  England  and  America)  was  evidently  much  charmed 
by  the  tall  Gy,  and  ready  to  falter  a  bashful  "  Yes  "  if  she 
had  actually  proposed.  Fervently  hoping  that  she  would, 
and  more  and  more  averse  to  the  idea  of  reduction  to  a  cinder 
after  I  had  seen  the  rapidity  with  which  a  human  body  can  be 
hurried  into  a  pinch  of  dust,  I  amused  myself  by  watching  the 
manners  of  the  other  young  people.  I  had  the  satisfaction 
of  observing  that  Zee  was  no  singular  asserter  of  a  female's 
most  valued  rights.  Wherever  I  turned  my  eyes,  or  lent 
my  ears,  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  Gy  was  the  wooing  party, 
and  the  An  the  coy  and  reluctant  one.  The  pretty  innocent 
airs  which  an  An  gave  himself  on  being  thus  courted,  the 
dexterity  with  which  he  evaded  direct  answer  to  professions 
of  attachment,  or  turned  into  jest  the  flattering  compliments 
addressed  to  him,  would  have  done  honour  to  the  most  accom- 
plished coquette.  Both  my  male  chajjerons  were  subjected 
greatly  to  these  seductive  influences,  and  both  acquitted 
themselves  with  wonderful  honour  to  their  tact  and  self- 
control. 

I  said  to  the  elder  son,  who  preferred  mechanical  employ- 
ments to  the  management  of  a  great  property,  and  who  was  of 
an  eminently  philosophical  temperament,  "I  find  it  difficult 
to  conceive  how  at  your  age,  and  with  all  the  intoxicating 
effects  on  the  senses,  of  music  and  lights  and  perfumes,  you 
can  be  so  cold  to  that  impassioned  Gy  who  has  just  left  you 
with  tears  in  her  eyes  at  your  cruelty." 

The  young  An  replied  with  a  sigh,  "Gentle  Tish,  the  great- 
est misfortune  in  life  is  to  marry  one  Gy  if  you  are  in  love 
with  another." 

"Oh,  you  are  in  love  with  another?  " 


THE   COMING   RACE.  365 

"Alas!  yes." 

"And  she  does  not  return  your  love?  " 

"I  don't  know.  Sometimes  a  look,  a  tone,  makes  me  hope 
so;  but  she  has  never  plainly  told  me  that  she  loves  me." 

"Have  you  not  whispered  in  her  own  ear  that  you  love 
her?  " 

"Fie!  what  are  you  thinking  of?  What  world  do  you 
come  from?  Could  I  so  betray  the  dignity  of  my  sex? 
Could  I  be  so  un-Anly,  so  lost  to  shame,  as  to  own  love  to 
a  Gy  who  has  not  first  owned  hers  to  me?" 

"Pardon;  I  was  not  quite  aware  that  you  pushed  the  mod- 
esty of  your  sex  so  far.  But  does  no  An  ever  say  to  a  Gy,  '  I 
love  you,'  till  she  says  it  first  to  him?  " 

"I  can't  say  that  no  An  has  ever  done  so,  but  if  he  ever 
does,  he  is  disgraced  in  the  eyes  of  the  Ana,  and  secretly  de- 
spised by  the  Gy-ei.  No  Gy,  well  brought  up,  would  listen 
to  him;  she  would  consider  that  he  audaciously  infringed  on 
the  rights  of  her  sex,  while  outraging  the  modesty  which  dig- 
nifies his  own.  It  is  very  provoking,"  continued  the  An, 
"  for  she  whom  I  love  has  certainly  courted  no  one  else,  and  I 
cannot  but  think  she  likes  me.  Sometimes  I  suspect  that  she 
does  not  court  me  because  she  fears  I  would  ask  some  unrea- 
sonable settlement  as  to  the  surrender  of  her  rights ;  but  if 
so,  she  cannot  really  love  me,  for  where  a  Gy  really  loves 
she  foregoes  all  rights." 

"Is  this  young  Gy  present?  " 

"Oh,  yes.     She  sits  yonder  talking  to  my  mother." 

I  looked  in  the  direction  to  which  my  eyes  were  thus 
guided,  and  saw  a  Gy  dressed  in  robes  of  bright  red,  which 
among  this  people  is  a  sign  that  a  Gy  as  yet  prefers  a  single 
state.  She  wears  gray,  a  neutral  tint,  to  indicate  that  she  is 
looking  about  for  a  spouse ;  dark  purple  if  she  wishes  to  inti- 
mate that  she  has  made  a  choice;  purple  and  orange  when 
she  is  betrothed  or  married;  light  blue  when  she  is  divorced 
or  a  widow  and  would  marry  again.  Light  blue  is  of  course 
seldom  seen. 

Among  a  people  where  all  are  of  so  high  a  type  of  beauty, 
it  is  difficult  to  single  out  one  as  peculiarly  handsome.     My 


366  THE  COMING  RACE. 

young  friend's  choice  seemed  to  me  to  possess  the  average  of 
good  looks;  but  there  was  an  expression  in  her  face  that 
pleased  me  more  than  did  the  faces  of  the  young  Gy-ei  gener- 
ally, because  it  looked  less  bold,  less  conscious  of  female 
rights.  I  observed  that,  while  she  talked  to  Bra,  she  glanced, 
from  time  to  time,  sidelong  at  my  young  friend. 

"Courage,"  said  I;  "that  young  Gy  loves  you." 

"Ay,  but  if  she  will  not  say  so,  how  am  I  the  better  for  her 
love." 

"Your  mother  is  aware  of  your  attachment?  " 

"Perhaps  so.  I  never  owned  it  to  her.  It  would  be  un- 
Anly  to  confide  such  weakness  to  a  mother.  I  have  told  my 
father;  he  may  have  told  it  again  to  his  wife." 

"Will  you  permit  me  to  quit  you  for  a  moment  and  glide 
behind  your  mother  and  your  beloved?  I  am  sure  they  are 
talking  about  you.  Do  not  hesitate.  I  promise  that  I  will 
not  allow  myself  to  be  questioned  till  I  rejoin  you." 

The  young  An  pressed  his  hand  on  his  heart,  touched  me 
lightly  on  the  head,  and  allowed  me  to  quit  his  side.  I  stole 
unobserved  behind  his  mother  and  his  beloved.  I  overheard 
their  talk. 

Bra  was  speaking;  said  she,  "There  can  be  no  doubt  of 
this :  either  my  son,  who  is  of  marriageable  age,  will  be  de- 
coyed into  marriage  with  one  of  his  many  suitors,  or  he  will 
join  those  who  emigrate  to  a  distance  and  we  shall  see  him 
no  more.  If  you  really  care  for  him,  my  dear  Lo,  you  should 
propose." 

"I  do  care  for  him,  Bra;  but  I  doubt  if  I  could  really  ever 
win  his  affections.  He  is  fond  of  his  inventions  and  time- 
pieces; and  I  am  not  like  Zee,  but  so  dull  that  I  fear  I  could 
not  enter  into  his  favourite  pursuits,  and  then  he  would  get 
tired  of  me,  and  at  the  end  of  three  years  divorce  me,  and  I 
could  never  marry  another, —  never!" 

"  It  is  not  necessary  to  know  about  timepieces  to  know  how 
to  be  so  necessary  to  the  happiness  of  an  An  who  cares  for 
timepieces  that  he  would  rather  give  up  the  timepieces  than 
divorce  his  Gy.  You  see,  my  dear  Lo,"  continued  Bra,  "that 
precisely  because  we  are  the  stronger  sex,  we  rule  the  other, 


THE  COMING  RACE.  367 

provided  we  never  show  our  strength.  If  you  were  superior 
to  my  son  in  making  timepieces  and  automata,  you  should, 
as  his  wife,  always  let  him  suppose  you  thought  him  superior 
in  that  art  to  yourself.  The  An  tacitly  allows  the  pre-emi- 
nence of  the  Gy  in  all  except  his  own  special  pursuit.  But 
if  she  either  excels  him  in  that,  or  affects  not  to  admire  him 
for  his  proficiency  in  it,  he  will  not  love  her  very  long;  per- 
haps he  may  even  divorce  her.  But  where  a  Gy  really  loves, 
she  soon  learns  to  love  all  that  the  An  does." 

The  young  Gy  made  no  answer  to  this  address.  She  looked 
down  musingly,  then  a  smile  crept  over  her  lips,  and  she  rose, 
still  silent,  and  went  through  the  crowd  till  she  paused  by  the 
young  An  who  loved  her.  1  followed  her  steps,  but  discreetly 
stood  at  a  little  distance  while  I  watched  them.  Somewhat 
to  my  surprise,  till  I  recollected  the  coy  tactics  among  the 
Ana,  the  lover  seemed  to  receive  her  advances  with  an  air  of 
indifference.  He  even  moved  away;  but  she  pursued  his 
steps,  and,  a  little  time  after,  both  spread  their  wings  and 
vanished  amid  the  luminous  space  above. 

Just  then  I  was  accosted  by  the  chief  magistrate,  who  min- 
gled with  the  crowd  distinguished  by  no  signs  of  deference  or 
homage.  It  so  happened  that  I  had  not  seen  this  great  digni- 
tary since  the  day  I  had  entered  his  dominions;  and  recalling 
Aph-Lin's  words  as  to  his  terrible  doubt  whether  or  not  I 
should  be  dissected,  a  shudder  crept  over  me  at  the  sight  of 
his  tranquil  countenance. 

"I  hear  much  of  you,  stranger,  from  my  son  Tae,"  said  the 
Tur,  laying  his  hand  politely  on  my  bended  head.  "He  is 
very  fond  of  your  society,  and  I  trust  you  are  not  displeased 
with  the  customs  of  our  people." 

I  muttered  some  unintelligible  answer,  which  I  intended  to 
be  an  assurance  of  my  gratitude  for  the  kindness  I  had  re- 
ceived from  the  Tur,  and  my  admiration  of  his  countrymen, 
but  the  dissecting-knife  gleamed  before  my  mind's  eye  and 
choked  my  utterance.  A  softer  voice  said,  "My  brother's 
friend  must  be  dear  to  me;"  and  looking  up  I  saw  a  young 
Gy,  who  might  be  sixteen  years  old,  standing  beside  the  mag- 
istrate and  gazing  at  me  with  a  very  benignant  countenance. 


368  THE  COMING  RACE. 

She  had  not  come  to  her  full  growth,  and  was  scarcely  taller 
than  myself  (namely,  about  five  feet,  ten  inches),  and,  thanks 
to  that  comi^aratively  diminutive  stature,  I  thought  her  the 
loveliest  Gy  I  had  hitherto  seen.  I  suppose  something  in  my 
eyes  revealed  that  impression,  for  her  countenance  grew  yet 
more  benignant. 

"Tae  tells  me,"  she  said,  "that  you  have  not  yet  learned  to 
accustom  yourself  to  wings.  That  grieves  me,  for  I  should 
have  liked  to  fly  with  you." 

"Alas!"  I  replied,  "I  can  never  hope  to  enjoy  that  happi- 
ness. I  am  assured  by  Zee  that  the  safe  use  of  wings  is  a 
hereditary  gift,  and  it  would  take  generations  before  one  of 
my  race  could  poise  himself  in  the  air  like  a  bird." 

"Let  not  that  thought  vex  you  too  much,"  replied  this 
amiable  princess,  "for,  after  all,  there  must  come  a  day  when 
Zee  and  myself  must  resign  our  wings  forever.  Perhaps 
when  that  day  comes  we  might  be  glad  if  the  An  we  chose 
was  also  without  wings." 

The  Tur  had  left  us,  and  was  lost  amongst  the  crowd.  I 
began  to  feel  at  ease  with  Tae's  charming  sister,  and  rather 
startled  her  by  the  boldness  of  my  compliment  in  replying 
"that  no  An  she  could  choose  would  ever  use  his  wings  to  fly 
away  from  her."  It  is  so  against  custom  for  an  An  to  say  such 
civil  things  to  a  Gy  till  she  has  declared  her  passion  for  him,  and 
been  accepted  as  his  betrothed,  that  the  young  maiden  stood 
quite  dumfounded  for  a  few  moments.  Nevertheless  she  did 
not  seem  displeased.  At  last  recovering  herself,  she  invited 
me  to  accompany  her  into  one  of  the  less  crowded  rooms  and 
listen  to  the  songs  of  the  birds.  I  followed  her  steps  as  she 
glided  before  me,  and  she  led  me  into  a  chamber  almost 
deserted.  A  fountain  of  naphtha  was  playing  in  the  centre 
of  the  room;  round  it  were  ranged  soft  divans,  and  the  walls 
of  the  room  were  open  on  one  side  to  an  aviary  in  which  the 
birds  were  chanting  their  artful  chorus.  The  Gy  seated  her- 
self on  one  of  the  divans,  and  I  placed  myself  at  her  side. 
"Tae  tells  me,"  she  said,  "that  Aph-Lin  has  made  it  the  law  ^ 

^  Literally  "  has  said,  In  this  house  be  it  requested."     Words  S3-nonyinous 
with  law,  as  implylLg  forcible  obligatiou,  are  avoided  by  this  singular  people. 


THE  COMING  RACE.  369 

of  his  house  that  you  are  not  to  be  questioned  as  to  the 
country  you  come  from  or  the  reason  why  you  visit  us. 
Is  it  so?" 

"It  is." 

*'  ]\Iay  I,  at  least,  without  sinning  against  that  law,  ask  at 
least  if  the  Gy-ei  in  your  country  are  of  the  same  pale  colour 
as  yourself,  and  no  taller?  " 

"  I  do  not  think,  0  beautiful  Gy,  that  I  infringe  the  law  of 
Aph-Lin,  Avhich  is  more  binding  on  myself  than  any  one,  if  I 
answer  questions  so  innocent.  The  Gy-ei  in  my  country  are 
much  fairer  of  hue  than  I  am,  and  their  average  height  is  at 
least  a  head  shorter  than  mine." 

"They  cannot  then  be  so  strong  as  the  Ana  amongst  you? 
But  I  suppose  their  superior  vril  force  makes  up  for  such  ex- 
traordinary disadvantage  of  size?  " 

"They  do  not  profess  the  vril  force  as  jon  know  it.  But 
still  they  are  very  powerful  in  my  country,  and  an  An  has 
small  chance  of  a  happy  life  if  he  be  not  more  or  less  governed 
by  his  Gy." 

"You  speak  feelingly,"  said  Tae's  sister,  in  a  tone  of  voice 
half  sad,  half  petulant.     "You  are  married,  of  course?  " 

"No,  certainly  not." 

"Xor  betrothed?" 

"Nor  betrothed." 

"Is  it  possible  that  no  Gy  has  proposed  to  you?  " 

"In  my  country  the  Gy  does  not  propose;  the  An  speaks 
first." 

"  What  a  strange  reversal  of  the  laws  of  nature !  "  said  the 
maiden,  "and  what  want  of  modesty  in  your  sex!  But  have 
you  never  proposed,  never  loved  one  Gy  more  than  another?  " 

I  felt  embarrassed  by  these  ingenuous  questionings,  and 
said,  "  Pardon  me,  but  I  think  we  are  beginning  to  infringe 
upon  Aph-Lin 's  injunction.  Thus  much  only  will  I  say  in 
answer,  and  then,  I  implore  you,  ask  no  more.     I  did  once 

Even  had  it  been  decreed  by  the  Tur  that  his  College  of  Sages  should  dissect 
me,  the  decree  would  have  ran  blandly  thus  :  "  Be  it  requested  that,  for  the 
good  of  the  community,  the  carnivorous  Tish  be  requested  to  submit  himself 
to  dissection." 

24 


370  THE  COMING  RACE. 

feel  the  preference  you  speak  of;  I  did  propose,  and  the  Gy 
would  willingly  have  accepted  me,  but  her  parents  refused 
their  consent." 

"  Parents !  Do  you  mean  seriously  to  tell  me  that  parents 
can  interfere  with  the  choice  of  their  daughters?  " 

"Indeed  they  can,  and  do  very  often." 

"I  should  not  like  to  live  in  that  country,"  said  the  Gy, 
simply;  "but  I  hope  you  will  never  go  back  to  it." 

I  bowed  my  head  in  silence.  The  Gy  gently  raised  my 
face  with  her  right  hand,  and  looked  into  it  tenderly.  "  Stay 
with  us,"  she  said;  "stay  with  us,  and  be  loved." 

What  I  might  have  answered,  what  dangers  of  becoming  a 
cinder  I  might  have  encountered,  I  still  tremble  to  think, 
when  the  light  of  the  naphtha  fountain  was  obscured  by  the 
shadow  of  wings;  and  Zee,  flying  through  the  open  roof, 
alighted  beside  us.  She  said  not  a  word,  but,  taking  my 
arm  with  her  mighty  hand,  she  drew  me  away,  as  a  mother 
draws  a  naughty  child,  and  led  me  through  the  apartments  to 
one  of  the  corridors,  on  which,  by  the  mechanism  they  gener- 
ally prefer  to  stairs,  we  ascended  to  my  own  room.  This 
gained,  Zee  breathed  on  my  forehead,  touched  my  breast 
with  her  staff,  and  I  was  instantly  plunged  into  a  profound 
sleep. 

When  I  awoke  some  hours  later,  and  heard  the  song  of  the 
birds  in  the  adjoining  aviary,  the  remembrance  of  Tae's 
sister,  her  gentle  looks  and  caressing  words,  vividly  returned 
to  me;  and  so  impossible  is  it  for  one  born  and  reared  in  our 
upper  world's  state  of  society  to  divest  himself  of  ideas  dic- 
tated by  vanity  and  ambition,  that  I  found  myself  instinc- 
tively building  proud  castles  in  the  air. 

"Tish  though  I  be,"  thus  ran  my  me^litations, —  "Tish 
though  I  be,  it  is  then  clear  that  Zee  is  not  the  only  Gy 
whom  my  appearance  can  captivate.  Evidently  I  am  loved 
by  A  Princess,  the  first  maiden  of  this  land,  the  daughter  of 
the  absolute  Monarch  whose  autocracy  they  so  idly  seek  to 
disguise  by  the  republican  title  of  '  chief  magistrate. '  But  for 
the  sudden  swoop  of  that  horrible  Zee,  this  Eoyal  Lady  would 
have  formally  proposed  to  me;  and  though  it  may  be  very 


THE   COMING   RACE.  371 

well  for  Aph-Lin,  who  is  only  a  subordinate  minister,  a  mere 
Commissioner  of  Light,  to  threaten  me  with  destruction  if  I 
accept  his  daughter's  hand,  yet  a  Sovereign,  whose  word  is 
law,  could  compel  the  community  to  abrogate  any  custom 
that  forbids  intermarriage  with  one  of  a  strange  race,  and 
which  in  itself  is  a  contradiction  to  their  boasted  equality 
of  ranks. 

"It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  his  daughter,  who  spoke 
with  such  incredulous  scorn  of  the  interference  of  parents, 
would  not  have  sufficient  influence  with  her  Royal  Father  to 
save  me  from  the  combustion  to  which  Aph-Lin  would  con- 
demn my  form.  And  if  I  were  exalted  by  such  an  alliance, 
who  knows  but  what  the  Monarch  might  elect  me  as  his  suc- 
cessor? Why  not?  Few  among  this  indolent  race  of  phi- 
losophers like  the  burden  of  such  greatness.  All  might  be 
pleased  to  see  the  supreme  power  lodged  in  the  hands  of  an 
accomplished  stranger  who  has  experience  of  other  and  live- 
lier forms  of  existence;  and,  once  chosen,  what  reforms  I 
would  institute !  What  additions  to  the  really  pleasant  but 
too  monotonous  life  of  this  realm  my  familiarity  with  the  civi- 
lized nations  above  ground  would  effect!  I  am  fond  of  the 
sports  of  the  field.  Next  to  war,  is  not  the  chase  a  king's 
pastime?  In  what  varieties  of  strange  game  does  this  nether 
world  abound!  How  interesting  to  strike  down  creatures  that 
were  known  above  ground  before  the  Deluge!  But  how? 
By  that  terrible  vril,  in  which,  from  want  of  hereditary  trans- 
mission, I  could  never  be  a  proficient?  No,  but  by  a  civilized 
handy  breech-loader,  which  these  ingenious  mechanicians 
could  not  only  make,  but  no  doubt  improve;  nay,  surely  I 
saw  one  in  the  Museum.  Indeed,  as  absolute  king,  I  should 
discountenance  vril  altogether,  except  in  cases  of  war. 
A  propos  of  war,  it  is  perfectly  absurd  to  stint  a  people  so 
intelligent,  so  rich,  so  well  armed,  to  a  petty  limit  of  terri- 
tory sufficing  for  ten  thousand  or  twelve  thousand  families. 
Is  not  this  restriction  a  mere  philosophical  crotchet,  at  vari- 
ance with  the  aspiring  element  in  human  nature,  such  as  has 
been  partially,  and  with  complete  failure,  tried  in  the  upper 
world  by  the  late  Mr.  Robert  Owen.     Of  course  one  would 


372  THE  COMING  RACE. 

not  go  to  war  with  neighbouring  nations  as  well  armed  as 
one's  own  subjects;  but  then,  what  of  those  regions  inhabited 
by  races  unacquainted  with  vril,  and  apparently  resembling, 
in  their  democratic  institutions,  my  American  countrymen? 
One  might  invade  them  without  offence  to  the  vril  nations, 
our  allies,  appropriate  their  territories,  extending,  perhaps, 
to  the  most  distant  regions  of  the  nether  earth,  and  thus  rule 
over  an  empire  in  which  the  sun  never  sets.  (I  forgot,  in 
my  enthusiasm,  that  over  those  regions  there  was  no  sun  to 
set.)  As  for  the  fantastical  notion  against  conceding  fame  or 
renown  to  an  eminent  individual,  because,  forsooth,  bestowal 
of  honours  insures  contest  in  the  pursuit  of  them,  stimulates 
angry  passions,  and  mars  the  felicity  of  peace, —  it  is  opposed 
to  the  very  elements,  not  only  of  the  human  but  the  brute 
creation,  which  are  all,  if  tamable,  participators  in  the  senti- 
ment of  praise  and  emulation.  What  renown  would  be  given 
to  a  king  who  thus  extended  his  empire !  I  should  be  deemed 
a  demigod."  Thinking  of  that,  the  other  fanatical  notion  of 
regulating  this  life  by  reference  to  one  which,  no  doubt,  we 
Christians  firmly  believe  in,  but  never  take  into  considera- 
tion, I  resolved  that  enlightened  philosophy  compelled  me  to 
abolish  a  heatheii  religion  so  superstitiously  at  variance  with 
modern  thought  and  practical  action.  Musing  over  these  va- 
rious projects,  I  felt  how  much  I  should  have  liked  at  that 
moment  to  brighten  my  wits  by  a  good  glass  of  whiskey-and- 
water.  Not  that  I  am  habitually  a  spirit-drinker,  but  cer- 
tainly there  are  times  when  a  little  stimulant  of  alcoholic 
nature,  taken  with  a  cigar,  enlivens  the  imagination.  Yes; 
certainly  among  these  herbs  and  fruits  there  would  be  a  liquid 
from  which  one  could  extract  a  pleasant  vinous  alcohol ;  and 
with  a  steak  cut  off  one  of  those  elks  (ah,  what  offence  to 
science  to  reject  the  animal  food  which  our  first  medical  men 
agree  in  recommending  to  the  gastric  juices  of  mankind!)  one 
would  certainly  pass  a  more  exhilarating  hour  of  repast. 
Then,  too,  instead  of  those  antiquated  dramas  performed  by 
childish  amateurs,  certainly  when  I  am  king,  I  will  introduce 
our  modern  opera  and  a  corps  de  ballet,  for  which  one  might 
find,  among  the  nations  I  shall  conquer,  young  females  of  less 


THE  COMING  RACE.  373 

formidable  height  and  thews  than  the  Gy-ei, —  not  armed 
with  vril,  and  not  insisting  upon  one's  marrying  them. 

I  was  so  completely  wrapped  in  these  and  similar  reforms, 
political,  social,  and  moral,  calculated  to  bestow  on  the  people 
of  the  nether  world  the  blessings  of  a  civilization  known  to 
the  races  of  the  upper,  that  I  did  not  perceive  that  Zee  had 
entered  the  chamber  till  I  heard  a  deep  sigh,  and  raising  my 
eyes,  beheld  her  standing  by  my  couch. 

I  need  not  say  that,  according  to  the  manners  of  this  peo- 
ple, a  Gy  can,  without  indecorum,  visit  an  An  in  his  cham- 
ber, though  an  An  would  be  considered  forward  and  immodest 
to  the  last  degree  if  he  entered  the  chamber  of  a  Gy  without 
previously  obtaining  her  permission  to  do  so.  Fortunately  I 
was  in  the  full  habiliments  I  had  worn  when  Zee  had  de- 
posited me  on  the  couch.  Nevertheless  I  felt  much  irritated, 
as  well  as  shocked,  by  her  visit,  and  asked  in  a  rude  tone 
what  she  wanted. 

"Speak  gently,  beloved  one,  I  entreat  you,"  said  she,  "for 
I  am  very  unhappy.     I  have  not  slept  since  we  parted." 

"A  due  sense  of  your  shameful  conduct  to  me  as  your 
father's  guest  might  well  suffice  to  banish  sleep  from  your 
eyelids.  Where  was  the  affection  you  pretend  to  have  for 
me,  where  was  even  that  politeness  on  which  the  Vril-ya  pride 
themselves,  when,  taking  advantage  alike  of  that  physical 
strength  in  which  your  sex,  in  this  extraordinary  region,  ex- 
cels our  own,  and  of  those  detestable  and  unhallowed  powers 
which  the  agencies  of  vril  invest  in  your  eyes  and  finger- 
ends,  you  exposed  me  to  humiliation  before  your  assembled 
visitors,  before  Her  Royal  Highness, —  I  mean,  the  daughter 
of  your  own  chief  magistrate, —  carrying  me  off  to  bed  like  a 
naughty  infant,  and  plunging  me  into  sleep,  without  asking 
my  consent?  " 

"Ungrateful!  Do  you  reproach  me  for  the  evidences  of  my 
love?  Can  you  think  that,  even  if  unstrung  by  the  jealousy 
which  attends  upon  love  till  it  fades  away  in  blissful  trust 
when  we  know  that  the  heart  we  have  wooed  is  Avon,  I  could 
be  indifferent  to  the  perils  to  which  the  audacious  overtures 
of  that  silly  little  child  might  expose  you?  " 


374  THE   COMING  RACE. 

*•  Hold !  Since  you  introduce  the  subject  of  perils,  it  per- 
haps does  not  misbecome  me  to  say  that  my  most  imminent 
perils  come  from  yourself,  or  at  least  would  come  if  I  be- 
lieved in  your  love  and  accepted  your  addresses.  Your  father 
has  told  me  plainly  that  in  that  case  I  should  be  consumed 
into  a  cinder  with  as  little  compunction  as  if  I  were  the  rep- 
tile whom  Tae  blasted  into  ashes  with  the  flash  of  his 
wand." 

"Do  not  let  that  fear  chill  your  heart  to  me,"  exclaimed 
Zee,  dropping  on  her  knees  and  absorbing  my  right  hand  in 
the  space  of  her  ample  palm.  "It  is  true,  indeed,  that  we 
two  cannot  wed  as  those  of  the  same  race  wed;  true  that  the 
love  between  us  must  be  pure  as  that  which,  in  our  belief, 
exists  between  lovers  who  reunite  in  the  new  life  beyond  that 
boundary  at  which  the  old  life  ends.  But  is  it  not  happiness 
enough  to  be  together,  wedded  in  mind  and  in  heart?  Listen: 
I  have  just  left  my  father.  He  consents  to  our  union  on  those 
terms.  I  have  sufficient  influence  with  the  College  of  Sages 
to  insure  their  request  to  the  Tur  not  to  interfere  with  the 
free  choice  of  a  Gy,  provided  that  her  wedding  with  one  of 
another  race  be  but  the  wedding  of  souls.  Oh,  think  you  that 
true  love  needs  ignoble  union?  It  is  not  that  I  yearn  only  to 
be  by  your  side  in  this  life,  to  be  part  and  parcel  of  your  joys 
and  sorrows  here :  I  ask  here  for  a  tie  which  will  bind  us  for- 
ever and  forever  in  the  world  of  immortals.  Do  you  reject 
me?" 

As  she  spoke,  she  knelt,  and  the  whole  character  of  her 
face  was  changed, —  nothing  of  sternness  left  to  its  grandeur; 
a  divine  light,  as  that  of  an  immortal,  shining  out  from  its 
human  beauty.  But  she  rather  awed  me  as  angel  than  moved 
me  as  woman,  and  after  an  embarrassed  pause,  I  faltered 
forth  evasive  expressions  of  gratitude,  and  sought,  as  deli- 
cately as  I  could,  to  point  out  how  humiliating  would  be  my 
position  amongst  her  race  in  the  light  of  a  husband  who 
might  never  be  permitted  the  name  of  father. 

"But,"  said  Zee,  "this  community  does  not  constitute  the 
whole  world.  No;  nor  do  all  the  populations  comprised  in 
the  league  of  the  Vril-ya.     For  thy  sake  I  will  renounce  my 


THE  COMING  RACE.  375 

country  and  my  people.  We  will  fly  together  to  some  region 
where  thou  shalt  be  safe.  I  am  strong  enough  to  bear  thee 
on  my  wings  across  the  deserts  that  intervene.  I  am  skilled 
enough  to  cleave  open,  amid  the  rocks,  valleys  in  which  to 
build  our  home.  Solitude  and  a  hut  with  thee  would  be  to 
me  society  and  the  universe.  Or  wouldst  thou  return  to  thine 
own  world,  above  the  surface  of  this,  exposed  to  the  uncer- 
tain seasons,  and  lit  but  by  the  changeful  orbs  which  consti- 
tute by  thy  description  the  fickle  character  of  those  savage 
regions?  If  so,  speak  the  word,  and  I  will  force  the  way  for 
thy  return,  so  that  I  am  thy  companion  there,  though,  there 
as  here,  but  partner  of  thy  soul,  and  fellow-traveller  with 
thee  to  the  world  in  which  there  is  no  parting  and  no  death." 
I  could  not  but  be  deeply  affected  by  the  tenderness,  at 
once  so  pure  and  so  impassioned,  with  which  these  words 
were  uttered,  and  in  a  voice  that  would  have  rendered  musi- 
cal the  roughest  sounds  in  the  rudest  tongue.  And  for  a 
moment  it  did  occur  to  me  that  I  might  avail  myself  of  Zee's 
agency  to  affect  a  safe  and  speedy  return  to  the  upper  world. 
But  a  very  brief  space  for  reflection  sufiiced  to  show  me 
how  dishonourable  and  base  a  return  for  such  devotion  it 
would  be  to  allure  thus  away,  from  her  own  people  and  a 
home  in  which  I  had  been  so  hospitably'  treated,  a  creature  to 
whom  our  world  would  be  so  abhorrent,  and  for  whose  barren, 
if  spiritual  love,  I  could  not  reconcile  myself  to  renounce  the 
more  human  affection  of  mates  less  exalted  above  my  erring 
self.  With  this  sentiment  of  duty  towards  the  Gy  combined 
another  of  duty  towards  the  whole  race  I  belonged  to.  Could 
I  venture  to  introduce  into  the  upper  world  a  being  so  for- 
midably gifted, —  a  being  that  with  a  movement  of  her  staff 
could  in  less  than  an  hour  reduce  New  York  and  its  glorious 
Koom-Posh  into  a  pinch  of  snuff?  Eob  her  of  one  staff,  with 
her  science  she  could  easily  construct  another;  and  with  the 
deadly  lightnings  that  armed  the  slender  engine  her  whole 
frame  was  charged.  If  thus  dangerous  to  the  cities  and  popu- 
lations of  the  whole  upper  earth,  could  she  be  a  safe  com- 
panion to  myself  in  case  her  affection  should  be  svibjected  to 
change  or  embittered  by  jealousy?    These  thoughts,  which  it 


376  THE  COMING  RACE. 

takes  so  many  words  to  express,  passed  rapidly  through  my 
brain  and  decided  my  answer. 

*'Zee,"  I  said,  in  the  softest  tones  I  could  command,  and 
pressing  resjjectful  lips  on  the  hand  into  whose  clasp  mine 
had  vanished,  —  "  Zee,  I  can  find  no  words  to  say  how  deeply 
I  am  touched,  and  how  highly  I  am  honoured,  by  a  love  so 
disinterested  and  self-immolating.  My  best  return  to  it  is 
perfect  frankness.  Each  nation  has  its  customs.  The  cus- 
toms of  yours  do  not  allow  you  to  wed  me;  the  customs  of 
mine  are  equally  opposed  to  such  a  union  between  those  of 
races  so  widely  differing.  On  the  other  hand,  though  not  de- 
ficient in  courage  among  my  own  people,  or  amid  dangers  with 
which  I  am  familiar,  I  cannot,  without  a  shudder  of  horror, 
think  of  constructing  a  bridal  home  in  the  heart  of  some  dis- 
mal chaos,  with  all  the  elements  of  nature,  fire  and  water  and 
mephitic  gases,  at  war  with  each  other,  and  with  the  proba- 
bility that  at  some  moment,  while  you  were  busied  in  cleav- 
ing rocks  or  conveying  vril  into  lamps,  I  should  be  devoured 
by  a  krek  which  your  operations  disturbed  from  its  hiding- 
place.  I,  a  mere  Tish,  do  not  deserve  the  love  of  a  Gy  so 
brilliant,  so  learned,  so  potent  as  yourself.  Yes,  I  do  not 
deserve  that  love,  for  I  cannot  return  it." 

Zee  released  my  hand,  rose  to  her  feet,  and  turned  her  face 
away  to  hide  her  emotions ;  then  she  glided  noiselessly  along 
the  room,  and  paused  at  the  threshold.  Suddenly,  impelled 
as  by  a  new  thought,  she  returned  to  my  side  and  said,  in  a 
whispered  tone, — 

"You  told  me  you  would  speak  with  perfect  frankness. 
With  perfect  frankness,  then,  answer  me  this  question.  If 
you  cannot  love  me,  do  you  love  another?  " 

"Certainly  I  do  not." 

"You  do  not  love  Tae's  sister?  " 

"I  never  saw  her  before  last  night." 

"That  is  no  answer.  Love  is  swifter  than  vril.  You  hesi- 
tate to  tell  me.  Do  not  think  it  is  only  jealousy  that  prompts 
me  to  caution  you.  If  the  Tur's  daughter  should  declare  love 
to  you,  if  in  her  ignorance  she  confides  to  her  father  any 
preference  that  may  justify  his  belief  that  she  will  woo  you, 


THE  COMING  RACE.  377 

he  will  have  no  option  but  to  request  your  immediate  destruc- 
tion, as  he  is  specially  charged  with  the  duty  of  consulting 
the  good  of  the  community,  which  could  not  allow  a  daughter 
of  the  Vril-ya  to  wed  a  son  of  the  Tish-a,  iu  that  sense  of 
marriage  which  does  not  confine  itself  to  union  of  the  souls. 
Alas!  there  would  then  be  for  you  no  escape.  She  has  no 
strength  of  wing  to  uphold  you  through  the  air ;  she  has  no 
science  wherewith  to  make  a  home  in  the  wilderness.  Be- 
lieve that  here  my  friendship  speaks,  and  that  my  jealousy  is 
silent." 

With  those  words  Zee  left  me.  And  recalling  those  words, 
I  thought  no  more  of  succeeding  to  the  throne  of  the  Vril-ya, 
or  of  the  political,  social,  and  moral  reforms  I  should  insti- 
tute in  the  capacity  of  Absolute  Sovereign. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

Aftek  the  conversation  with  Zee  just  recorded,  I  fell  into 
a  profound  melancholy.  The  curious  interest  with  which  I 
had  hitherto  examined  the  life  and  habits  of  this  marvellous 
community  was  at  an  end.  I  could  not  banish  from  my  mind 
the  consciousness  that  I  was  among  a  people  who,  however 
kind  and  courteous,  could  destroy  me  at  any  moment  without 
scruple  or  compunction.  The  virtuous  and  peaceful  life  of 
the  people  which,  while  new  to  me,  had  seemed  so  holy  a 
contrast  to  the  contentions,  the  passions,  the  vices  of  the 
upper  world,  now  began  to  oppress  me  with  a  sense  of  dulness 
and  monotony.  Even  the  serene  tranquillity  of  the  lustrous 
air  preyed  on  ray  spirits.  I  longed  for  a  change,  even  to 
winter,  or  storm,  or  darkness.  I  began  to  feel  that,  whatever 
our  dreams  of  perfectibility,  our  restless  aspirations  towards 
a  better  and  higher  and  calmer  sphere  of  being,  we,  the  mor- 
tals of  the  upper  world,  are  not  trained  or  fitted  to  enjoy  for 
long  the  very  happiness  of  which  we  dream  or  to  which  we 
aspire. 


378  THE   COMING  RACE. 

Now,  in  this  social  state  of  tlie  Vril-ya,  it  was  singular  to 
mark  liow  it  contrived  to  unite  and  to  harmonize  into  one 
system  nearly  all  the  objects  which  the  various  philosophers 
of  the  upper  world  have  placed  before  human  hopes  as  the 
ideals  of  a  Utopian  future.  It  was  a  state  in  which  war,  with 
all  its  calamities,  was  deemed  impossible, —  a  state  in  which 
the  freedom  of  all  and  each  was  secured  to  the  uttermost  de- 
gree, without  one  of  those  animosities  which  make  freedom 
in  the  upper  world  depend  on  the  perpetual  strife  of  hostile 
parties.  Here  the  corruption  which  debases  democracies  was 
as  unknown  as  the  discontents  which  undermine  the  thrones 
of  monarchies.  Equality  here  was  not  a  name;  it  was  a 
reality.  Riches  were  not  persecuted,  because  they  were  not 
envied.  Here  those  problems  connected  with  the  labours  of 
a  working  class,  hitherto  insoluble  above  ground,  and  above 
ground  conducing  to  such  bitterness  between  classes,  were 
solved  by  a  process  the  simplest, —  a  distinct  and  separate 
working  class  was  dispensed  with  altogether.  Mechanical 
inventions,  constructed  on  principles  that  baffled  my  research 
to  ascertain,  worked  by  an  agency  infinitely  more  powerful 
and  infinitely  more  easy  of  management  than  aught  we  have 
yet  extracted  from  electricity  or  steam,  with  the  aid  of  chil- 
dren whose  strength  was  never  overtasked,  but  who  loved  their 
employment  as  sport  and  pastime,  sufficed  to  create  a  Public- 
wealth  so  devoted  to  the  general  use  that  not  a  grumbler  was 
ever  heard  of.  The  vices  that  rot  our  cities  here  had  no  foot- 
ing. Amusements  abounded,  but  they  were  all  innocent.  No 
merry-makings  conduced  to  intoxication,  to  riot,  to  disease. 
Love  existed,  and  was  ardent  in  pursuit,  but  its  object,  once 
secured,  was  faithful.  The  adulterer,  the  profligate,  the  har- 
lot, were  phenomena  so  unknown  in  this  commonwealth,  that 
even  to  find  the  words  by  whioh  they  were  designated  one 
would  have  had  to  search  throughout  an  obsolete  literature 
composed  thousands  of  years  before.  They  who  have  been 
students  of  theoretical  philosophies  above  ground,  know  that 
all  these  strange  departures  from  civilized  life  do  but  realize 
ideas  which  have  been  broached,  canvassed,  ridiculed,  con- 
tested for;  sometimes  partially  tried,  and  still  put  forth   in 


THE  COMING  RACE.  379 

fantastic  books,  but  have  never  come  to  practical  result.  Xor 
were  these  all  the  steps  towards  theoretical  perfectibility 
which  this  community  had  made.  It  had  been  the  sober  be- 
lief of  Descartes  that  the  life  of  man  could  be  prolonged,  not, 
indeed,  on  this  earth,  to  eternal  duration,  but  to  what  he 
called  the  age  of  the  patriarchs,  and  modestly  defined  to  be 
from  one  hundred  to  one  hundred  and  fifty  years  average 
length.  Well,  even  this  dream  of  sages  was  here  fulfilled, — 
nay,  more  than  fulfilled;  for  the  vigour  of  middle  life  was 
preserved  even  after  the  term  of  a  century  was  passed.  With 
this  longevity  was  combined  a  greater  blessing  than  itself, 
that  of  continuous  health.  Such  diseases  as  befell  the  race 
were  removed  with  ease  by  scientific  applications  of  that 
agency  —  life-giving  as  life-destroying  —  which  is  inherent 
in  vril.  Even  this  idea  is  not  unknown  above  ground,  though 
it  has  generally  been  confined  to  enthusiasts  or  charlatans, 
and  emanates  from  confused  notions  about  mesmerism,  odic 
force,  etc.  Passing  by  such  trivial  contrivances  as  wings, 
which  every  schoolboy  knows  has  been  tried  and  found  want- 
ing, from  the  mythical  or  prehistorical  period,  I  proceed  to 
that  very  delicate  question,  urged  of  late  as  essential  to  the 
perfect  happiness  of  our  human  species  by  the  two  most 
disturbing  and  potential  influences  on  upper-ground  society, 
Womankind  and  Philosophy, —  I  mean,  the  Rights  of  Women. 
Now,  it  is  allowed  by  jurisprudists  that  it  is  idle  to  talk  of 
rights  where  there  are  not  corresponding  powers  to  enforce 
them;  and  above  ground,  for  some  reason  or  other,  man,  in 
his  physical  force,  in  the  use  of  weapons  offensive  and  defen- 
sive, when  it  comes  to  positive  personal  contest,  can,  as  a 
rule  of  general  application,  master  women.  But  among  this 
people  there  can  be  no  doubt  about  the  rights  of  women,  be- 
cause, as  I  have  before  said,  the  Gy,  physically  speaking,  is 
bigger  and  stronger  than  the  An;  and  her  will  being  also 
more  resolute  than  his,  and  will  being  essential  to  the 
direction  of  the  vril  force,  she  can  bring  to  bear  upon  him, 
more  potently  than  he  on  herself,  the  mystical  agency  which 
art  can  extract  from  the  occult  properties  of  nature.  There- 
fore all  that  our  female  philosophers  above  ground  contend 


380  THE  COMIXG  RACE. 

for  as  to  riglits  of  women,  is  conceded  as  a  matter  of  course 
in  this  happy  commonwealth.  Besides  such  physical  powers, 
the  Gy-ei  have  (at  least  in  youth)  a  keen  desire  for  accom- 
plishments and  learning  which  exceeds  that  of  the  male ;  and 
thus  they  are  the  scholars,  the  professors, —  the  learned  por- 
tion, in  short,  of  the  community. 

Of  course,  in  this  state  of  society  the  female  establishes, 
as  I  have  shown,  her  most  valued  privilege,  —  that  of  choos- 
ing and  courting  her  wedding  partner.  "Without  that  privi- 
lege she  would  despise  all  the  others.  Kow,  above  ground, 
we  should  not  unreasonably  apprehend  that  a  female,  thus  po- 
tent and  thus  privileged,  when  she  had  fairly  hunted  us  down 
and  married  us,  would  be  very  imperious  and  tyrannical. 
Not  so  with  the  Gy-ei:  once  married,  the  wings  once  sus- 
pended, and  more  amiable,  complacent,  docile  mates,  more 
sympathetic,  more  sinking  their  loftier  capacities  into  the 
study  of  their  husband's  comparatively  frivolous  tastes  and 
whims,  no  poet  could  conceive  in  his  visions  of  conjugal 
bliss.  Lastly,  among  the  more  important  characteristics  of 
the  Yril-ya,  as  distinguished  from  our  mankind, —  lastly,  and 
most  important  on  the  bearings  of  their  life  and  the  peace  of 
their  commonwealths,  is  their  universal  agreement  in  the  ex- 
istence of  a  merciful  beneficent  Deity,  and  of  a  future  world 
to  the  duration  of  which  a  century  or  two  are  moments  too 
brief  to  waste  upon  thoughts  of  fame  and  power  and  avarice; 
while  with  that  agreement  is  combined  another, —  namely, 
since  they  can  know  nothing  as  to  the  nature  of  that  Deity 
beyond  the  fact  of  His  supreme  goodness,  nor  of  that  future 
world  beyond  the  fact  of  its  felicitous  existence,  so  their  rea- 
son forbids  all  angry  disputes  on  insoluble  questions.  Thus 
they  secure  for  that  State  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth  what  no 
community  ever  secured  under  the  light  of  the  stars, —  all 
the  blessings  and  consolations  of  a  religion  without  any  of 
the  evils  and  calamities  which  are  engendered  by  strife  be- 
tween one  religion  and  another. 

It  would  be,  then,  utterly  impossible  to  deny  that  the  state 
of  existence  among  the  Yril-ya  is  thus,  as  a  whole,  immeas- 
urably more  felicitous  than  that  of  super-terrestrial  races,  and, 


THE  COMING  RACE.  381 

realizing  the  dreams  of  our  most  sanguine  philanthropists, 
almost  approaches  to  a  poet's  conception  of  some  angelical 
order;  and  yet,  if  you  would  take  a  thousand  of  the  best  and 
most  philosophical  of  human  beings  you  could  find  in  London, 
Paris,  Berlin,  New  York,  or  even  Boston,  and  place  them  as 
citizens  in  this  beatified  community,  my  belief  is,  that  in  less 
than  a  year  they  would  either  die  of  ennui,  or  attempt  some 
revolution  by  which  they  would  militate  against  the  good  of 
the  communty,  and  be  burned  into  cinders  at  the  request  of 
the  Tur. 

Certainly  I  have  no  desire  to  insinuate,  through  the  medium 
of  this  narrative,  any  ignorant  disparagement  of  the  race  to 
which  I  belong.  I  have,  on  the  contrary,  endeavoured  to 
make  it  clear  that  the  principles  which  regulate  the  social 
system  of  the  Vril-ya  forbid  them  to  produce  those  individual 
examples  of  human  greatness  which  adorn  the  annals  of  the 
upper  world.  Where  there  are  no  wars  there  can  be  no  Han- 
nibal, no  Washington,  no  Jackson,  no  Sheridan;  where  States 
are  so  happy  that  they  fear  no  danger  and  desire  no  change, 
they  cannot  give  birth  to  a  Demosthenes,  a  Webster,  a  Sum- 
ner, a  Wendell  Holmes,  or  a  Butler;  and  where  a  society 
attains  to  a  moral  standard,  in  which  there  are  no  crimes  and 
no  sorrows  from  which  tragedy  can  extract  its  aliment  of  pity 
and  sorrow,  no  salient  vices  or  follies  on  which  comedy  can 
lavish  its  mirthful  satire,  it  has  lost  the  chance  of  producing 
a  Shakspeare,  or  a  Moliere,  or  a  Mrs.  Beecher  Stowe.  But  if 
I- have  no  desire  to  disparage  my  fellow-men  above  ground  in 
showing  how  much  the  motives  that  impel  the  energies  and 
ambition  of  individuals  in  a  society  of  contest  and  struggle, 
become  dormant  or  annulled  in  a  society  which  aims  at  secur- 
ing for  the  aggregate  the  calm  and  innocent  felicity  Avhich  we 
presume  to  be  tlie  lot  of  beatified  immortals,  neither,  on  the 
other  hand,  have  I  the  wish  to  represent  the  commonwealths 
of  the  Vriliya  as^n  ideal  form  of  political  society,  to  the  at- 
tainment of  which  our  own  efforts  of  reform  should  be  di- 
rected. On  the  contrary,  it  is  because  we  have  so  combined, 
throughout  the  series  of  ages,  the  elements  which  compose 
human  character,  that  it  would  be  utterly  impossible  for  us 


382  THE  COMING  RACE. 

to  adopt  the  modes  of  life,  or  to  reconcile  our  passions  to  the 
modes  of  thought,  among  the  Vril-ya, —  that  I  arrived  at  the 
conviction  that  this  people  —  though  originally  not  only  of 
our  human  race,  but,  as  seems  to  me  clear  by  the  roots  of 
their  language,  descended  from  the  same  ancestors  as  the 
great  Aryan  family,  from  which  in  varied  streams  has  flowed 
the  dominant  civilization  of  the  world;  and  having,  according 
to  their  myths  and  their  history,  passed  through  phases  of 
society  familiar  to  ourselves  — had  yet  now  developed  into  a 
distinct  species,  with  which  it  was  impossible  that  any  com- 
munity in  the  upper  world  could  amalgamate;  and  that  if 
they  ever  emerged  from  these  nether  recesses  into  the  light 
of  day,  they  would,  according  to  their  own  traditional  persua- 
sions of  their  ultimate  destiny,  destroy  and  replace  our  exist- 
ent varieties  of  man. 

It  may  indeed  be  said,  since  more  than  one  Gy  could  be 
foiind  to  conceive  a  partiality  for  so  ordinary  a  type  of  our 
super-terrestrial  race  as  myself,  that  even  if  the  Vril-ya  did 
appear  above  ground,  we  might  be  saved  from  extermination 
by  intermixture  of  race.  But  this  is  too  sanguine  a  belief. 
Instances  of  such  mesalliance  would  be  as  rare  as  those  of  in- 
termarriage between  the  Anglo-Saxon  emigrants  and  the  Eed 
Indians.  Nor  would  time  be  allowed  for  the  operation  of 
familiar  intercourse.  The  Vril-ya,  on  emerging,  induced  by 
the  charm  of  a  sunlit  heaven  to  form  their  settlements  above 
ground,  would  commence  at  once  the  work  of  destruction, 
seize  upon  the  territories  already  cultivated,  and  clear  off, 
without  scruple,  all  the  inhabitants  who  resisted  that  inva- 
sion. And  considering  their  contempt  for  the  institutions  of 
Koom-Posh,  or  Popular  Government,  and  the  pugnacious 
valour  of  my  beloved  countrymen,  I  believe  that  if  the  Vril-ya 
first  appeared  in  free  America  —  as,  being  the  choicest  por- 
tion of  the  habitable  earth,  they  would  doubtless  be  induced 
to  do  —  and  said,  "  This  quarter  of  the  globe  we  take ;  Citi- 
zens of  a  Koom-Posh,  make  way  for  the  development  of 
species  in  the  Vril-ya,"  my  brave  compatriots  would  show 
fight,  and  not  a  soul  of  them  would  be  left  in  this  life  to  rally 
round  the  Stars  and  Stripes  at  the  end  of  a  week. 


THE  COMING  RACE.  383 

I  now  saw  but  little  of  Zee,  save  at  meals,  when  the  family- 
assembled,  and  she  was  then  reserved  and  silent.  My  appre- 
hensions of  danger  from  an  affection  I  had  so  little  encour- 
aged or  deserved,  therefore,  now  faded  away,  but  my  dejection 
continued  to  increase.  I  pined  for  escape  to  the  upper  Avorld, 
but  I  racked  my  brains  in  vain  for  any  means  to  effect  it.  I 
was  never  permitted  to  wander  forth  alone,  so  that  I  could 
not  even  visit  the  spot  on  which  I  had  alighted,  and  see  if  it 
Avere  possible  to  reascend  to  the  mine.  Nor  even  in  the  Silent 
Hours,  when  the  household  was  locked  in  sleep,  could  I  have 
let  myself  down  from  the  lofty  floor  in  which  my  apartment 
was  placed.  I  knew  not  how  to  command  the  automata  who 
stood  mockingly  at  my  beck  beside  the  wall,  nor  could  I  ascer- 
tain the  springs  by  which  were  set  in  movement  the  platforms 
that  supplied  the  place  of  stairs.  The  knowledge  how  to 
avail  myself  of  these  contrivances  had  been  purposely  withheld 
from  me.  Oh,  that  I  could  but  have  learned  the  use  of  wings, 
so  freely  here  at  the  service  of  every  infant!  then  I  might 
have  escaped  from  the  casement,  regained  the  rocks,  and 
buoyed  myself  aloft  through  the  chasm  of  which  the  perpen- 
dicular sides  forbade  place  for  human  footing! 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

One  day,  as  I  sat  alone  and  brooding  in  my  chamber,  Tae 
flew  in  at  the  open  window  and  alighted  on  the  couch  beside 
me.  I  was  always  pleased  with  the  visits  of  a  child  in 
whose  society,  if  humbled,  I  was  less  eclipsed  than  in  that  of 
Ana  who  had  completed  their  education  and  matured  their 
understanding;  and  as  I  was  permitted  to  wander  forth  with 
him  for  my  companion,  and  as  I  longed  to  revisit  the  spot  in 
which  I  had  descended  into  the  nether  world,  I  hastened  to 
ask  him  if  he  were  at  leisure  for  a  stroll  beyond  the  streets 
of  the  city.  His  countenance  seemed  to  me  graver  than  usual 
as  he  replied,  "I  came  hither  on  purpose  to  invite  you  forth." 


384  THE  CO]\nNG  RACE. 

We  soon  found  ourselves  in  the  street,  and  I  liad  not  got 
far  from  the  house  when  we  encountered  five  or  six  young 
Gy-ei,  who  were  returning  from  the  fields  with  baskets  full 
of  flowers,  and  chanting  a  song  in  chorus  as  they  walked.  A 
young  Gy  sings  more  often  than  she  talks.  They  stopped  on 
seeing  us,  accosting  Tae  with  familiar  kindness,  and  me  with 
the  courteous  gallantry  which  distinguishes  the  Gy-ei  in  their 
manner  towards  our  weaker  sex. 

And  here  I  may  observe  that,  though  a  virgin  Gy  is  so 
frank  in  her  courtship  to  the  individual  she  favours,  there  is 
nothing  that  approaches  to  that  general  breadth  and  loudness 
of  manner  which  those  young  ladies  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  race, 
to  whom  the  distinguished  epithet  of  "  fast  "  is  accorded,  ex- 
hibit towards  young  gentlemen  whom  they  do  not  profess  to 
love.  jSTo  :  the  bearing  of  the  Gy-ei  towards  males  in  ordi- 
nary is  very  much  that  of  high-bred  men  in  the  gallant  soci- 
eties of  the  upper  world  towards  ladies  whom  they  respect 
but  do  not  woo ;  deferential,  complimentary,  exquisitely  pol- 
ished,—  what  we  should  call  "chivalrous." 

Certainly  I  was  a  little  put  out  by  the  number  of  civil 
things  addressed  to  my  amour  propre,  which  were  said  to  me 
by  these  courteous  young  Gy-ei.  In  the  world  I  came  from, 
a  man  would  have  thought  himself  aggrieved,  treated  with 
irony,  "  chaffed  "  (if  so  vulgar  a  slang  word  may  be  allowed 
on  the  authority  of  the  popular  novelists  who  use  it  so  freely), 
when  one  fair  Gy  complimented  me  on  the  freshness  of  my 
complexion,  another  on  the  choice  of  colours  in  my  dress,  a 
third,  with  a  sly  smile,  on  the  conquests  I  had  made  at  Aph- 
Lin's  entertainment.  But  I  knew  already  that  all  such  lan- 
guage was  what  the  French  call  banal,  and  did  but  express  in 
the  female  mouth,  below  earth,  that  sort  of  desire  to  pass  for 
amiable  with  the  opposite  sex  which,  above  earth,  arbitrary 
custom  and  hereditary  transmission  demonstrate  by  the  mouth 
of  the  male.  And  just  as  a  high-bred  young  lady,  above 
earth,  habituated  to  such  compliments,  feels  that  she  cannot, 
without  impropriety,  return  them,  nor  evince  any  great  satis- 
faction at  receiving  them,  so  I,  who  had  learned  polite  man- 
ners at  the  house  of  so  wealthy  and  dignified  a  Minister  of 


THE   COiMING   RACE.  385 

that  nation,  could  but  smile  and  try  to  look  pretty  in  bash- 
fully disclaiming  the  compliments  showered  upon  me.  While 
we  were  thus  talking,  Taii's  sister,  it  seems,  had  seen  us  from 
the  upper  rooms  of  the  Royal  Palace  at  the  entrance  of  the 
town,  and,  precipitating  herself  on  her  wings,  alighted  in  the 
midst  of  the  group. 

Singling  me  out,  she  said,  though  still  with  the  inimitable 
deference  of  manner  which  I  have  called  "chivalrous,"  yet 
not  without  a  certain  abruptness  of  tone  which,  as  addressed 
to  the  weaker  sex.  Sir  Philip  Sidney  might  have  termed 
"rustic,"  "Why  do  you  never  come  to  see  us?  " 

While  I  was  deliberating  on  the  right  answer  to  give  to 
this  unlooked-for  question,  Tae  said  quickly  and  sternly, 
"Sister,  you  forget, —  the  stranger  is  of  my  sex.  It  is  not 
for  persons  of  my  sex,  having  due  regard  for  reputation  and 
modesty,  to  lower  themselves  by  running  after  the  society  of 
yours." 

This  speech  was  received  with  evident  approval  by  the 
young  Gy-ei  in  general;  but  Tae's  sister  looked  greatly 
abashed.     Poor  thing!  —  and  a  Princess  too! 

Just  at  this  moment  a  shadow  fell  on  the  space  between  me 
and  the  group;  and,  turning  round,  I  beheld  the  chief  magis- 
trate coming  close  upon  us,  with  the  silent  and  stately  pace 
peculiar  to  the  Vril-ya.  At  the  sight  of  his  countenance,  the 
same  terror  which  had  seized  me  when  I  first  beheld  it  re- 
turned. On  that  brow,  in  those  eyes,  there  was  that  same  in- 
definable something  which  marked  the  being  of  a  race  fatal 
to  our  own, —  that  strange  expression  of  serene  exemption 
from  our  common  cares  and  passions,  of  conscious  superior 
power,  compassionate  and  inflexible  as  that  of  a  judge  who 
pronounces  doom.  I  shivered,  and,  inclining  low,  pressed 
the  arm  of  my  child-friend,  and  drew  him  onward  silently. 
The  Tur  placed  himself  before  our  path,  regarded  me  for  a 
moment  without  speaking,  then  turned  his  e3'e  quietly  on  his 
daughter's  face,  and,  with  a  grave  salutation  to  her  and  the 
other  Gy-ei,  went  through  the  midst  of  the  group, —  still 
without  a  word. 


25 


386  THE  COaUNG  RACE. 


CHAPTEE  XXYIII. 

"When  Tae  and  I  found  ourselves  alone  on  tlie  broad  road 
that  lay  between  the  city  and  the  chasm  through  which  I  had 
descended  into  this  region  beneath  the  light  of  the  stars  and 
sun,  I  said  under  my  breath,  "Child  and  friend,  there  is  a 
look  in  your  father's  face  which  appalls  me.  I  feel  as  if,  in 
its  awful  tranquillity,  I  gazed  upon  death." 

Tae  did  not  immediately  reply.  He  seemed  agitated,  and 
as  if  debating  with  himself  by  what  words  to  soften  some  un- 
welcome intelligence.  At  last  he  said,  "Xone  of  the  Vril-ya 
fear  death:  do  you?  " 

"  The  dread  of  death  is  implanted  in  the  breasts  of  the  race 
to  which  I  belong.  We  can  conquer  it  at  the  call  of  duty,  of 
honour,  of  love.  "We  can  die  for  a  truth,  for  a  native  land, 
for  those  who  are  dearer  to  us  than  ourselves.  But  if  death 
do  really  threaten  me  now  and  here,  where  are  such  counter- 
actions to  the  natural  instinct  which  invests  with  awe  and 
terror  the  contemplation  of  severance  between  soul  and 
body?" 

Tae  looked  surprised,  but  there  was  great  tenderness  in  his 
voice  as  he  replied,  "  I  will  tell  my  father  what  you  say.  I 
will  entreat  him  to  spare  your  life." 

"He  has,  then,  already  decreed  to  destroy  it?  " 

"  'T  is  my  sister's  fault  or  folly,"  said  Tae,  with  some  petu- 
lance. "But  she  spoke  this  morning  to  my  father;  and,  after 
she  had  spoken,  he  summoned  me,  as  a  chief  among  the  chil- 
dren who  are  commissioned  to  destroy  such  lives  as  threaten 
the  community,  and  he  said  to  me,  'Take  thy  vril  staff,  and 
seek  the  stranger  who  has  made  himself  dear  to  thee.  Be  his 
end  painless  and  prompt.'  " 

"And,"  I  faltered,  recoiling  from  the  child,  "and  it  is, 
then,  for  my  murder  that  thus  treacherously  thou  hast  invited 
me  forth?  No,  I  cannot  believe  it.  I  cannot  think  thee 
guilty  of  such  a  crime." 


THE  COMING  RACE.  387 

"It  is  no  crime  to  slay  those  who  threaten  the  good  of  the 
community;  it  would  be  a  crime  to  slay  the  smallest  insect 
that  cannot  harm  us." 

"  If  you  mean  that  I  threaten  the  good  of  the  community 
because  your  sister  honours  me  with  the  sort  of  preference 
which  a  child  may  feel  for  a  strange  plaything,  it  is  not  ne- 
cessary to  kill  me.  Let  me  return  to  the  people  I  have  left, 
and  by  the  chasm  through  which  I  descended.  Witli  a  slight 
help  from  you,  I  might  do  so  now.  You,  by  the  aid  of  your 
wings,  could  fasten  to  the  rocky  ledge  within  the  chasm  the 
cord  that  you  found,  and  have  no  doi-bt  preserved.  Do  but 
that;  assist  me  but  to  the  spot  from  which  I  alighted,  and  I 
vanish  from  your  world  forever,  and  as  surely  as  if  I  were 
among  the  dead." 

"The  chasm  through  which  you  descended!  Look  round; 
we  stand  now  on  the  very  place  where  it  yawned.  What  see 
you?  Only  solid  rock.  The  chasm  was  closed,  by  the  orders 
of  Aph-Lin,  as  soon  as  communication  between  him  and  your- 
self was  established  in  your  trance,  and  he  learned  from  your 
own  lips  the  nature  of  the  world  from  which  you  came.  Do 
you  not  remember  when  Zee  bade  me  not  question  you  as 
to  yourself  or  your  race?  On  quitting  you  that  day,  Aph-Lin 
accosted  me,  and  said,  'No  path  between  the  stranger's  home 
and  ours  should  be  left  unclosed,  or  the  sorrow  and  evil  of 
his  home  may  descend  to  ours.  Take  with  thee  the  children 
of  thy  band,  smite  the  sides  of  the  cavern  with  your  vril 
staves  till  the  fall  of  their  fragments  fills  up  every  chink 
through  which  a  gleam  of  our  lamps  could  force  its  way.'  " 

As  the  child  spoke,  I  stared  aghast  at  the  blind  rocks  be- 
fore me.  Huge  and  irregular,  the  granite  masses,  showing 
by  charred  discolouration  where  they  had  been  shattered,  rose 
from  footing  to  roof-top ;  not  a  cranny ! 

"All  hope,  then,  is  gone,"  I  murmured,  sinking  down  on 
the  craggy  wayside,  "and  I  shall  nevermore  see  the  sun."  I 
covered  my  face  with  my  hands,  and  prayed  to  Him  whose 
presence  I  had  so  often  forgotten  when  the  heavens  had  de- 
clared His  handiwork.  I  felt  His  presence  in  the  depths  of 
the  nether  earth,  and  amid  the  world  of  the  grave.     I  looked 


388  THE   COMING  RACE. 

up,  taking  comfort  and  courage  from  my  prayers,  and  gazing 
■vvitli  a  quiet  smile  into  the  face  of  the  child,  said,  "Now,  if 
thou  must  slay  me,  strike." 

Tae  shook  his  head  gently.  "Nay,"  he  said,  "my  father's 
request  is  not  so  formally  made  as  to  leave  me  no  choice.  I 
will  speak  with  him,  and  I  may  prevail  to  save  thee.  Strange 
that  thou  shouldst  have  that  fear  of  death  which  we  thought 
was  only  the  instinct  of  the  inferior  creatures,  to  whom  the 
conviction  of  another  life  has  not  been  vouchsafed.  AVith  us, 
not  an  infant  knows  such  a  fear.  Tell  me,  my  dear  Tish," 
he  continued,  after  a  little  pause,  "would  it  reconcile  thee 
more  to  departure  from  this  form  of  life  to  that  form  which 
lies  on  the  other  side  of  the  moment  called  'death,'  did  I 
share  thy  journey?  If  so,  I  will  ask  my  father  whether  it  be 
allowable  for  me  to  go  with  thee.  I  am  one  of  our  generation 
destined  to  emigrate,  when  of  age  for  it,  to  some  regions  un- 
known within  this  world.  I  would  just  as  soon  emigrate  now 
to  regions  unknown  in  another  world.  The  All-Good  is  no 
less  there  than  here.     Where  is  He  not?  " 

"Child,"  said  I,  seeing  by  Tae's  countenance  that  he  spoke 
in  serious  earnest,  "  it  is  crime  in  thee  to  slay  me ;  it  were  a 
crime  not  less  in  me  to  say,  'Slay  thyself.'  The  All-Good 
chooses  His  own  time  to  give  us  life,  and  His  own  time  to 
take  it  away.  Let  us  go  back.  If,  on  speaking  with  thy 
father,  he  decides  on  my  death,  give  me  the  longest  warn- 
ing in  thy  power,  so  that  I  may  pass  the  interval  in  self- 
preparation." 

We  walked  back  to  the  city,  conversing  but  by  fits  and 
starts.  We  could  not  understand  each  other's  reasonings, 
and  I  felt  for  the  fair  child,  with  his  soft  voice  and  beautiful 
face,  much  as  a  convict  feels  for  the  executioner  who  walks 
beside  him  to  the  place  of  doom. 


THE  COMING  RACE.  389 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

Ix  tlie  midst  of  tliose  hours  set  apart  for  sleep,  aud  consti- 
tuting the  night  of  the  Vril-ya,  I  was  awakened  from  the  dis- 
turbed slumber  into  which  I  had  not  long  fallen,  by  a  hand 
on  my  shoulder.  I  started,  and  beheld  Zee  standing  be- 
side me. 

"Hush,"  she  said,  in  a  whisper;  "let  no  one  hear  us.  Dost 
thou  think  that  I  have  ceased  to  watch  over  thy  safety  be- 
cause I  could  not  win  thy  love?  I  have  seen  Tae.  He  has 
not  prevailed  with  his  father,  who  had  meanwhile  conferred 
with  the  three  sages  whom,  in  doubtful  matters,  he  takes  into 
council,  and  by  their  advice  he  has  ordained  thee  to  perish 
when  the  world  re-awakens  to  life.  I  will  save  thee.  Ilise 
and  dress." 

Zee  pointed  to  a  table  by  the  couch,  on  which  I  saw  the 
clothes  I  had  worn  on  quitting  the  upper  world,  and  which  I 
had  exchanged  subsequently  for  the  more  picturesque  gar- 
ments of  the  Yril-ya.  The  young  Gy  then  moved  towards 
the  casement,  and  stepped  into  the  balcony  while  hastily  and 
wonderingly  I  donned  my  own  habiliments.  When  I  joined 
her  on  the  balcony,  her  face  was  pale  and  rigid.  Taking  me 
by  the  hand,  she  said  softly,  "See  how  brightly  the  art  of 
the  Vril-ya  has  lighted  up  the  world  in  which  they  dwell. 
To-morrow  that  world  will  be  dark  to  me."  She  drew  me 
back  into  the  room  without  waiting  for  my  answer,  thence 
into  the  corridor,  from  which  we  descended  into  the  hall. 
We  passed  into  the  deserted  streets  and  along  the  broad  up- 
ward road  which  wound  beneath  the  rocks.  Here,  where 
there  is  neither  day  nor  night,  the  Silent  Hours  are  unutter- 
ably solemn, —  the  vast  space  illumined  by  mortal  skill  is  so 
wholly  without  the  sight  and  stir  of  mortal  life.  Soft  as  were 
our  footsteps,  their  sounds  vexed  the  ear,  as  out  of  harmony 
with  the  universal  repose.     I  was  aware  in  my  own  mind, 


390  THE   COMING  RACE. 

thougli  Zee  said  it  not,  tliat  site  had  decided  to  assist  my  re- 
turn to  the  upper  world,  and  that  we  were  bound  towards  the 
place  from  which  I  had  descended.  Her  silence  infected  me, 
and  commanded  mine.  And  now  we  approached  the  chasm. 
It  had  been  reopened;  not  presenting,  indeed,  the  same  aspect 
as  when  I  had  emerged  from  it,  but  through  that  closed  wall 
of  rock  before  which  I  had  last  stood  with  Tae,  a  new  cleft 
had  been  riven,  and  along  its  blackened  sides  still  glimmered 
sparks  and  smouldered  embers.  My  upward  gaze  could  not, 
however,  penetrate  more  than  a  few  feet  into  the  darkness  of 
the  hollow  void,  and  I  stood  dismayed,  and  wondering  how 
that  grim  ascent  was  to  be  made. 

Zee  divined  my  doubt.  "Fear  not,"  said  she,  with  a  faint 
smile;  "your  return  is  assured.  I  began  this  Avork  when  the 
Silent  Hours  commenced,  and  all  else  were  asleep;  believe 
that  I  did  not  pause  till  the  path  back  into  thy  world  was 
clear.  I  shall  be  with  thee  a  little  while  yet.  We  do  not 
part  until  thou  sayest,  '  Go,  for  I  need  thee  no  more. '  " 

My  heart  smote  me  with  remorse  at  these  words.  "Ah,"  I 
exclaimed,  "  would  that  thou  wert  of  ray  race  or  I  of  thine, 
then  I  should  never  say,  'I  need  thee  no  more.'" 

"  I  bless  thee  for  those  words,  and  I  shall  remember  them 
when  thou  art  gone,"  answered  the  Gy,  tenderly. 

During  this  brief  interchange  of  words.  Zee  had  turned 
away  from  me,  her  form  bent  and  her  head  bowed  over  her 
breast.  Now,  she  rose  to  the  full  height  of  her  grand  stature, 
and  stood  fronting  me.  While  she  had  been  thus  averted 
from  my  gaze,  she  had  lighted  up  the  circlet  that  she  wore 
round  her  brow,  so  that  it  blazed  as  if  it  were  a  crown  of 
stars.  Not  only  her  face  and  her  form,  but  the  atmosphere 
around,  were  illumined  by  the  effulgence  of  the  diadem. 

"Now,"  said  she,  "put  thine  arms  around  me  for  the  first 
and  last  time.     Nay,  thus;  courage,  and  cling  firm." 

As  she  spoke  her  form  dilated,  the  vast  wings  expanded. 
Clinging  to  her,  I  was  borne  aloft  through  the  terrible  chasm. 
The  starry  light  from  her  forehead  shot  around  and  before  us 
through  the  darkness.  Brightly  and  steadfastly  and  swiftly 
as  an  angel  may  soar  heavenward  with  the  soul  it  rescues 


THE   COMING  RACE.  391 

from  the  grave,  went  the  flight  of  the  Gy,  till  I  hoard  in  the 
distance  the  hum  of  human  voices,  the  sounds  of  human  toil. 
We  halted  on  the  flooring  of  one  of  the  galleries  of  the  mine, 
and  beyond,  in  the  vista,  burned  the  dim,  rare,  feeble  lamps 
of  the  miners.  Then  I  released  my  hold.  The  Gy  kissed  me 
on  my  forehead  passionately,  but  as  with  a  mother's  passion, 
and  said,  as  the  tears  gushed  from  her  eyes,  "Farewell  for- 
ever! Thou  wilt  not  let  me  go  into  thy  world, —  thou  canst 
never  return  to  mine.  Ere  our  household  shake  off  slumber, 
the  rocks  will  have  again  closed  over  the  chasm,  not  to  be  re- 
opened by  me,  nor  perhaps  by  others,  for  ages  yet  unguessed. 
Think  of  me  sometimes,  and  with  kindness.  When  I  reach 
the  life  that  lies  beyond  this  speck  in  time,  I  shall  look  round 
for  thee.  Even  there,  the  world  consigned  to  thyself  and  thy 
people  may  have  rocks  and  gulfs  which  divide  it  from  that  in 
which  I  rejoin  those  of  my  race  that  have  gone  before,  and  I 
may  be  powerless  to  cleave  way  to  regain  thee  as  I  have 
cloven  way  to  lose." 

Her  voice  ceased.  I  heard  the  swan-like  sough  of  her 
wings,  and  saw  the  rays  of  her  starry  diadem  receding  far 
and  farther  through  the  gloom. 

I  sat  myself  down  for  some  time,  musing  sorrowfully;  then 
I  rose  and  took  my  way  with  slow  footsteps  towards  the  place 
in  which  I  heard  the  sounds  of  men.  The  miners  I  encoun- 
tered were  strange  to  me,  of  another  nation  than  my  own. 
They  turned  to  look  at  me  with  some  surprise,  but  finding 
that  I  could  not  answer  their  brief  questions  in  their  own 
language,  they  returned  to  their  work  and  suffered  me  to  pass 
on  unmolested.  In  fine,  I  regained  the  mouth  of  the  mine, 
little  troubled  by  other  interrogatories, —  save  those  of  a 
friendly  official  to  whom  I  was  knoAvn,  and  luckily  he  was 
too  busy  to  talk  much  with  me.  I  took  cai-e  not  to  return  to 
my  former  lodging,  but  hastened  that  very  day  to  quit  a 
neighbourhood  where  I  could  not  long  have  escaped  inquiries 
to  which  I  could  have  given  no  satisfactory  answers.  I  re- 
gained in  safety  my  own  country,  in  which  I  have  been  long 
peacefully  settled,  and  engaged  in  practical  business,  till  I 
retired,  on  a  competent  fortune,  three  years  ago.    I  have  been 


392  THE  COMING  RACE. 

little  invited  and  little  tempted  to  talk  of  the  rovings  and  ad- 
ventures of  my  youth.  Somewhat  disappointed,  as  most  men 
are,  in  matters  connected  with  household  love  and  domestic 
life,  I  often  think  of  the  young  Gy  as  I  sit  alone  at  night, 
and  wonder  how  I  could  have  rejected  such  a  love,  no  matter 
what  dangers  attended  it,  or  by  what  conditions  it  was  re- 
stricted. Only,  the  more  I  think  of  a  people  calmly  de- 
veloping, in  regions  excluded  from  our  sight  and  deemed 
uninhabitable  by  our  sages,  powers  surpassing  our  most  dis- 
ciplined modes  of  force,  and  virtues  to  which  our  life,  social 
and  political,  becomes  antagonistic  in  proportion  as  our  civil- 
ization advances,  the  more  devoutly  I  pray  that  ages  may  yet 
elapse  before  there  emerge  into  sunlight  our  inevitable  de- 
stroyers. Being,  however,  frankly  told  by  my  ph^^sician  that 
I  am  aiflicted  by  a  complaint  which,  though  it  gives  little 
pain  and  no  perceptible  notice  of  its  encroachments,  may  at 
any  moment  be  fatal,  I  have  thought  it  my  duty  to  my  fellow- 
men  to  place  on  record  these  forewarnings  of  The  Coming 
Kace. 


THE   END. 


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